Mayhem and destruction.

It started like any other night.  I went to bed.  After which I was rudely awakened by the dear husband running out of the bedroom after shaking me awake.  He seemed to have mumbled something, but I was having a difficult time figuring out what.  Now, in his defense,  I had asked him to make sure I was awake at 6:30 am the next morning in order to not be late for soccer camp.  However, I couldn’t figure out why, if it was 6:30 am, there was no sunshine streaming through the bedroom windows.  And my next thought was along the lines of “what the heck is he wearing his boots for?  He knows I’ll skin him alive for wearing those boots in the house.”  And finally this:  “why is he carrying the shotgun?”

See how my mind works?  Most importantly, I was wondering why he would dare to wear his boots in the house, let alone the bedroom.  Forget the fact that he was brandishing a shotgun.  Trivial.

Until I put two and two together.  I must tell you I am simply brilliant at 12:20 a.m.  The fog finally lifted and I realized that he hadn’t been gently shaking me awake out of concern I’d be late for soccer camp.  He had mumbled “BEAR!” and was wearing his boots because he was on a mission.  Oh yes, and carrying a shotgun.

I fumbled out of the covers and bleary-eyed followed him to the front porch where we watched a cute, little (not-so-much) black bear sniff around the birdhouse out on the fence.

I’ve never heard my husband growl.  But I swear he was growling at that bear.

And if he hadn’t been carrying that shotgun, I might have started laughing.  So in all seriousness, I then said “wait!  I want a picture.”  Dang if he didn’t turn and start growling at me!  “You have GOT to be kidding,” he said.  I ran back inside and returned with the camera just as the dear husband was alternately growling, shouting at the bear and firing the rubber-shot filled shells.

I tried to get digital proof, but it was dark (12:30 am) and the bear was dark and he finally go spooked and went bounding down the driveway.  The dear husband was NOT happy.  With the bear, with the shotgun (as the shells weren’t loading properly) and certainly not with me.  Though to be sure, I don’t understand why he couldn’t have waited to fire until I’d gotten some good pictures.

I finally decided I’d had enough excitement and went back to bed, leaving the dear husband standing on the porch, ready to shoot again.

The next morning revealed what he had feared:  the bear had returned and made short work of our bird feeders and fences.

DSC04938 DSC04940 DSC04941 DSC04942 (Looking for ants?)DSC04943 DSC04945

This last picture shows claw marks on the tree.

To top it all of, the damn bear absconded with two new feeders.  Simply gone, without a trace.

So now the birds are peeved as I’ve taken what’s left of the feeders and brought them inside.  And the chipmunks can’t figure out what happened to the free lunch deal.

Me?  I’ll not soon forget hearing the dear husband growl.  Remind me never to make him angry.  (He said the next day that he was mad because the bear had growled at him!  The audacious little bastard.  The bear, not the husband.)

So that’s the bear story for this year. Hopefully this will be it and he’ll go along his merry way when he realizes I’ll not be leaving any feeders out for him to run away with.

And you thought I was going to write about the GOP.  As in the mayhem and destruction their antics regarding the Affordable Care Act may cause.  Silly you.  Why would I write about the Republican ridiculousness?

Much more fun to record the growling contest!

About madranchwife

Mother, Mad Ranchwife(as in--at times-- crazy, nutso, loco, off-my-rocker insane), Veterinarian, Physical Therapist, "Liberal, pinko, gay-loving, Subaru-driving Socialist" (as I've been called), proud to be a totally tree-huggin', climate change believin', granola girl environmentalist, ObamaGirl, Pro-Choice (don't even get me started here...), and in my younger days a feminist vegetarian as a result of time spent at CU Boulder (this lasted approximately 14 months, until all the Jimmy Buffett I was listening to caused me to crave a cheeseburger). Now I just get pleasure out of swimming against the stream and ruffling a few feathers here in the wild west state of Wyoming!
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