I live in the Pacific Northwest of the United States. At least for the moment. We're moving back down south in a few weeks, and no, I'm not happy about it. Not at all. But I digress...and that's a separate blog post.
We live on a small mountain in a little town just outside of Seattle, WA. I LOVE it here. It's beautiful and green and when it rains, a gloomy mist hangs over the tree-covered mountains. It's just like in fucking Twilight, and I pronounced that I had to live here the first time I saw the area. And my favorite part: we have wildlife!
Last Sunday, my husband and I woke up at around six in the morning to find five deer right in our backyard: two doe and three fawns. We also have bunnies, and the most beautiful birds. Occasionally, I see a coyote wandering back there (and hear them at night), and every once in a while, we get the coolest visit of all - a black bear.
The bad part about the bear visits is that they only come calling to get into our trash, or our neighbor's trash, that they then eat in our yard. I leave the back light on for them. You know, so they can see. We had one come visit Thursday night, and my poor husband had to pick up the trash from the bear picnic Friday morning before he went to work.
The next night, we stayed up way too late watching The 100 on Netflix, and I had to get up for the 2017 Readers & Writers Event in Seattle. But it's a good thing we did, for lo and behold, just as we were dozing off, we heard one of our trash cans fall over.
Joe and I jumped out of bed and he ran for the flashlight while I flipped on the porch light, but the stinker must have heard us because all we saw was our compost can laying on its side (which is bear-proof), and no sign of any naughty bears.
Me: "Guess we'd better pull those trash cans into the garage."
(They're all full of food trash, because we've been cleaning out our house to get it ready to sell.)
Joe: Looks at me all like "I'm not going out there."
Me: "If we don't pull in the cans, it'll just be back and the naughty bear will have our trash strewn all over the yard."
Joe: Blank stare.
Me: Runs to the back deck and flicks on the light, makes sure our visitor hasn't wandered up onto the deck, then goes on outside. I can hear the bear tromping through the woods behind our house. "It's okay, he's out back. I can hear him. Go on, and I'll keep watch!"
Joe: Heaves a great sigh, and goes out in the dark to do his manly duty.
My husband did not get eaten by the bear, in spite of the fact that I sent him back out there a good three times to pull in cans, as I stood out back and goaded it for being so naughty. (The bear, not my husband.)
Needless to say, after the thrill of having such a large, furry animal in my trash (again, I'm talking about the bear), I was exhausted for the reader event on Saturday. I'm going to miss them, though. We don't have bears down south. We have armadillos and opossum. It's not nearly as exciting. Except when we see a snake...which I'm absolutely terrified of. Honestly, I prefer living with the bears.