People love to talk to me about marmots.

I understand why, of course. It’s because I am the head of the nascent Marmot Lodge.

So, in a way, it makes sense for readers to share with me their reports about these rascally rodents. I usually find the stories interesting. After all, I was regularly writing about marmots long before the idea for a fraternal organization ever occurred to me.

But here’s the thing. The Marmot Lodge was inspired by the Raccoon Lodge from TV’s “The Honeymooners.” It doesn’t really have that much of a connection to the actual animals.

I don’t recall Ralph Kramden and Ed Norton fretting about the plight of urban raccoons in New York City.

That said, I want to be clear. I like marmots. I like them better than I like some people.

I like the way they look, all chubby and furry. And I get a kick out of their easily annoyed demeanor.

I’m often tempted to ask them, “What are you so grumpy about?”

But I don’t, because I suspect I know the answer.

You see, marmots are not universally popular.

Because we have been so successful at destroying wildlife habitat, rugged survivors like marmots can wind up being viewed as pests.

So a lot of the stories I hear involve developers and homeowners doing battle with them. And then there are the complaints about the damage they do to parked vehicles.

These stories tend to be presented from one of two radically distinct perspectives.

1) Marmots are under assault – can’t you do something?

2) How can you lead a group named after these nasty little buggers?

The former fill me with a depressing sense of helplessness. No, of course, there’s nothing I can do. I wish I could bring back the coyotes and owls that would address marmot populations in the time-honored way. But I can’t.

The latter sometimes make me think that many of us won’t be happy until every creature we cannot tame is dead or in a cage.

The marmots were here first, of course. But they foolishly failed to file paperwork establishing ownership of the real estate they inhabit.

They dig holes. They leave droppings. They mess up flower gardens. They defend themselves when attacked by dogs.

We can’t have that, I guess.

Not here in the mild, mild West.

•Today’s Slice question: Who around here has a bicycle in a garage or basement that has not been ridden since Nixon was president?