In Which I Demonstrate My Deeply Intimidating Nature

We've always had bears around our place, but last spring a mama with three (3!) cubs was hanging around a whole lot. I think we're seeing so much action right now because those cubs are grown up and exploring. We've had a lot of luck with firecrackers and a slingshot (I like scaring them away without causing any harm), but it's a two person job to light/load the firecracker and fling it before it explodes.

So Emile and the kids were out of town last week and I had heard a lot of suspicious noises outside, but it was never close enough to the house to worry me. Finally, on Sunday night, the noises were much closer and I thought a bear was tearing up our shed. It was close enough that I got a good look at it then flung firecrackers, clapped my hands, shouted and generally tried to make an auditory nuisance of myself. It really didn't care. At all.

At this point, I decided retreat was perhaps the finest part of valour so I went inside and even decided to lock the doors since a bear that unfazed around humans (you know, the really tough-looking, intimidating types like me) might just decide to come through a sliding glass door into the kitchen for a snack. In retrospect, I realize a lock probably wouldn't stop it if it decided to come in, but I wasn't thinking particularly clearly at that point.

 

All was quieter for a few minutes, but then the noises started up again and I decided I'd give this whole menacing gig one last try. I went back out onto the porch, pulling the door shut with nary a second thought... until I heard the lock click behind me. At this point, I was outside with no flashlight, chainsaw, axe, or any other useful implement of self-defense. Heck, I wasn't even wearing pants since the bear sounds had pulled me out of bed. The bear was making lots of loud thrashing noises, but I could only faintly see where it was because it was Dark. Some of those thrashing noises sounded distinctly like charging to my adrenaline-addled brain.

I had to go closer to the bear to get off the porch, then headed for a kitchen window. I put a thumb-sized hole in the screen so I could pull it out, then was very relieved to discover that the window was not locked. It was, however, at neck height and only opened about 18 inches. In what can only be described as a masterful feat of ninja-like reflexes and superhuman upper body strength, I pulled myself into the kitchen, at which point I decided the bear could do whatever the heck it wanted as long as it stayed outside. I'm pretty sure I was locked outside for all of about 20 seconds. Twenty very long seconds.

It turns out that whatever (valiant and purely related to my exhibition of graceful physicality-- I'm pretty sure "gazelle-like" applies here) noise I was making during my retreat was the last straw for the bear. Once inside, I caught it trundling away in the flashlight's beam. I'm going to go ahead and assume that my defensive display has thoroughly chastened it and we won't be seeing it again any time soon.