That dog Bear that has been getting into our garbage

Isn't a dog at all. It's a bear and it's in our yard... again.

Yes, living in the woods here in Vermont can be quite an interesting episode of wild animal kingdom. Last night I was on the phone with my parents out in California, and amidst the excitement of speaking with long distance relatives up bumbles a big, black bear.

I ran to my camera... batteries dead. I grabbed my cell... too dark to get an image. I wailed, "Nooooooooo" shaking my fists at the sky. No one will ever believe me. What's worse is that I looked out this morning and it was back... or was it a different bear? Nonetheless, I had to do everything in my power to keep the dogs at bay. I joke a lot about how I'm not into dogs any more with a child and all, but I don't think I'd enjoy sopping up their poor, bludgeoned and mauled corpses.

Bears make me languid.

So what to do? Do I Google "natural bear repellents"? Do I storm the mayor's office chanting "we're here, we're clear, we don't want anymore bears"? I'm thinking ammonia. Nothing clears a hungry bear's sinuses like a blast of ammonia... I think.

What I wouldn't do for a group of bear-taming gypsies from the old country right about now. If you can call running a large brass ring through their noses and chaining them to a refurbished trolly car "taming". Maybe if I create a wind chime out of a bunch of old tambourines and castanets tied together with bandannas and strips of old tapestries, it will evoke a primal fear of nomadic circusfolk and make him leave on his own.