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Bear tale
HEATHER LENDE
AROUND ALASKA
(Published: September 18, 2003)
HAINES -- The bear in our neighborhood is a skinny old brownie that has raided bird feeders, smashed compost piles and eaten one dog's food while the chained pet bit him repeatedly on the back of the leg.
"He's one tired bear," the dog's owner says. "I don't think he'll last long."
So far, he hasn't noticed my hens, but I'm not sleeping well. Every bump in the night has me checking the yard. One morning, I found bear scat in the bushes.
A few days later, I was in the bookstore talking to the owner, Liz. The shop was crowded with tourists from the last cruise ship of the season, so we stopped and started our conversation between sales. Liz asked if I'd heard about the bears up on the hillside.
"There were five in the Larsons' back yard," she said. "Can you imagine -- five bears? Now that's scary."
One tourist said, "Really?" and Liz nodded. "Yes, they were all right there, trying to get into a chicken coop." Liz shook her head but smiled because it's a good story, just what the tourist wanted to hear.
I said there had been a bear in my yard too. When she asked how he looked, I had to admit that I hadn't actually seen him. Although I said I was glad of that, I wasn't. I wish I had seen the bear.
Then Karl came in looking for a paperback to take moose hunting. Karl is an easygoing fisherman. There was a white bandage running vertically from his nose to his forehead, smack in the middle of his handsome face.
I asked what happened, and he deadpanned, "What?" Then I said, "Your face -- what happened?" He looked puzzled, so I joked, "It better be a good story, and even if it isn't, make something up."
Karl didn't say anything. Whatever was under all that adhesive tape and gauze must not be funny at all. Maybe it's skin cancer.
I changed the subject, asking Karl if he'd seen the bear in our neighborhood.
"It took out three of Bonnie's cherry trees," he said. Karl's wife was not happy. Then he asked if it had been in my chickens. I said no, "but he was sniffing around a few nights ago."
He asked how it looked, and I had to admit again that I hadn't seen him. "You know why you don't?" Karl said. "He's dead."
I had really wanted to see that bear.
"How do you think I got this?" Karl pointed to the bandage. Then Liz said, "The bear did that?" and when Karl nodded "Yes," we both said, "No."
The tourists turned to look at the real Alaska bear killer. Karl's story didn't disappoint them.
He was washing dishes, he said, when he saw the bear heading for his wife's orchard, so he grabbed a frying pan and a big knife from the drain board and went out on the porch, banging the pan with the knife.
"The bear hardly noticed," he said, "so I yelled and banged some more."
Liz said, "Really?" and I wondered out loud if he was teasing us. But Karl didn't smile when he said, "What do you think?"
Then he said that instead of running away, the bear came toward him.
"It all happened so fast," he wasn't sure how he got cut. Liz and I were saying "No" and "Not really." I thought maybe it was better after all that I hadn't seen the bear at my house. The tourists circled closer. One took Karl's picture.
Karl said the bear came right up the back steps and stood on its hind legs, leaving him no choice but to stab it in the neck with the knife.
Stab it in the neck?
I caught Karl's eyes, and they were laughing. He must be joking. But Liz still believed him, the tourists were completely captivated, and he did have that bandage on his face.
"The worst part was, I had to drag it in the kitchen to be sure I could show the trooper that it was defense of life and property."
Now I knew for sure he was making it up -- and I had a feeling he was hoping everyone else would too, but they didn't.
Liz was dumbfounded. "A knife? You killed the bear with a knife?" Karl looked down and grinned.
The tourists left to catch the shuttle back to the dock. Karl disappeared in the stacks. Liz said someone should tell the newspaper. Karl's story was better than the five bears at the Larsons'.
Then, from the back of the store, Karl said, "Hey, Liz? It was a pipe wrench." And when she turned to look, he pointed to his face. He had been helping elderly neighbors with their plumbing when the tool slipped and clocked him in the nose. "But it sure gave the tourists something to talk about, didn't it?"
Liz shook her head, "You really had me going." We both said we should have guessed.
Karl said it was all my fault. "Hey, you're the one that said better make it a good story." I told him he had me until the part about the knife. That just wasn't believable.
"I don't know," Karl said, having the last word. "If a bear was coming at you and that was all you had, what would you do?"
Heather Lende lives and writes in Haines.
Bear tale
HEATHER LENDE
AROUND ALASKA
(Published: September 18, 2003)
HAINES -- The bear in our neighborhood is a skinny old brownie that has raided bird feeders, smashed compost piles and eaten one dog's food while the chained pet bit him repeatedly on the back of the leg.
"He's one tired bear," the dog's owner says. "I don't think he'll last long."
So far, he hasn't noticed my hens, but I'm not sleeping well. Every bump in the night has me checking the yard. One morning, I found bear scat in the bushes.
A few days later, I was in the bookstore talking to the owner, Liz. The shop was crowded with tourists from the last cruise ship of the season, so we stopped and started our conversation between sales. Liz asked if I'd heard about the bears up on the hillside.
"There were five in the Larsons' back yard," she said. "Can you imagine -- five bears? Now that's scary."
One tourist said, "Really?" and Liz nodded. "Yes, they were all right there, trying to get into a chicken coop." Liz shook her head but smiled because it's a good story, just what the tourist wanted to hear.
I said there had been a bear in my yard too. When she asked how he looked, I had to admit that I hadn't actually seen him. Although I said I was glad of that, I wasn't. I wish I had seen the bear.
Then Karl came in looking for a paperback to take moose hunting. Karl is an easygoing fisherman. There was a white bandage running vertically from his nose to his forehead, smack in the middle of his handsome face.
I asked what happened, and he deadpanned, "What?" Then I said, "Your face -- what happened?" He looked puzzled, so I joked, "It better be a good story, and even if it isn't, make something up."
Karl didn't say anything. Whatever was under all that adhesive tape and gauze must not be funny at all. Maybe it's skin cancer.
I changed the subject, asking Karl if he'd seen the bear in our neighborhood.
"It took out three of Bonnie's cherry trees," he said. Karl's wife was not happy. Then he asked if it had been in my chickens. I said no, "but he was sniffing around a few nights ago."
He asked how it looked, and I had to admit again that I hadn't seen him. "You know why you don't?" Karl said. "He's dead."
I had really wanted to see that bear.
"How do you think I got this?" Karl pointed to the bandage. Then Liz said, "The bear did that?" and when Karl nodded "Yes," we both said, "No."
The tourists turned to look at the real Alaska bear killer. Karl's story didn't disappoint them.
He was washing dishes, he said, when he saw the bear heading for his wife's orchard, so he grabbed a frying pan and a big knife from the drain board and went out on the porch, banging the pan with the knife.
"The bear hardly noticed," he said, "so I yelled and banged some more."
Liz said, "Really?" and I wondered out loud if he was teasing us. But Karl didn't smile when he said, "What do you think?"
Then he said that instead of running away, the bear came toward him.
"It all happened so fast," he wasn't sure how he got cut. Liz and I were saying "No" and "Not really." I thought maybe it was better after all that I hadn't seen the bear at my house. The tourists circled closer. One took Karl's picture.
Karl said the bear came right up the back steps and stood on its hind legs, leaving him no choice but to stab it in the neck with the knife.
Stab it in the neck?
I caught Karl's eyes, and they were laughing. He must be joking. But Liz still believed him, the tourists were completely captivated, and he did have that bandage on his face.
"The worst part was, I had to drag it in the kitchen to be sure I could show the trooper that it was defense of life and property."
Now I knew for sure he was making it up -- and I had a feeling he was hoping everyone else would too, but they didn't.
Liz was dumbfounded. "A knife? You killed the bear with a knife?" Karl looked down and grinned.
The tourists left to catch the shuttle back to the dock. Karl disappeared in the stacks. Liz said someone should tell the newspaper. Karl's story was better than the five bears at the Larsons'.
Then, from the back of the store, Karl said, "Hey, Liz? It was a pipe wrench." And when she turned to look, he pointed to his face. He had been helping elderly neighbors with their plumbing when the tool slipped and clocked him in the nose. "But it sure gave the tourists something to talk about, didn't it?"
Liz shook her head, "You really had me going." We both said we should have guessed.
Karl said it was all my fault. "Hey, you're the one that said better make it a good story." I told him he had me until the part about the knife. That just wasn't believable.
"I don't know," Karl said, having the last word. "If a bear was coming at you and that was all you had, what would you do?"
Heather Lende lives and writes in Haines.
