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 It was sure nice, Windy thought. Just sitting out
here in Mamie’s yard with my dog, Ramses, and some refreshments
Mamie brought out that did not include raw meat or vegetables no one
could pronounce.
“Don’t that there sun feel good, Mamie?”
She smiled and nodded and drank more tea.
“Afore you know it, them ol’ bears’ll be out and wrasslin’ around
fer somethin’ to eat. Gotta be careful in the woods, ya know. Take a
rifle along. What? Oh, a thirty-ought six should be plenty, I’m
thinkin’. ‘Course ya hafta place yer shot right. Nothin’ worse than
a wounded bear.”
Mamie thought something less than killing the bear should work
right.
“Well, Mamie,” said Windy, “there’s two schoolers of thought on that
one and one of ‘em’s wrong. Ya see, the hippy dippy folks carry a
spray ‘em can of pepper juice with ‘em in the woods. And they wear
these here little bells on their belt loops.”
Mamie smiled and nodded. [to top of second
column] |
“The idear bein’ that little
bell a dingie-dongin’ ‘round will tell the bear, hey, thass a hooman
bein’ and you better watch out cuz he’s smarter’n you are. But les’
jest say that ol’ bear’s got hisself a hearin’ problem and that bell
don’t mean nothin’ to him. Wellsir, thass where that danged pepper
spray comes in handy. Yep, ol’ Organtic Woodsman hisself pulls out
that can and jest lets her rip right in the bear’s face. I’ll jest
bet that smarts somethin’ awful, too.
“But later, you know, when they’re trackin’ that bear down, he makes
hisself easy to tell from other bears, cuz his poop smells like
pepper and its got little bells in it.
“Yep. Thirty-ought six should be enough.”
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to
you by Sweetgrass Mornings, by Slim Randles. See it at
www.unmpress.com.
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