(Bear in illustration is NOT to scale…)

The black blob, roughly the size of a Smart Car, disappeared behind a house.

Was that a….

I immediately took back all the times I declared I wanted to see the bear known to roam our neighborhood. How did I think this would be cool? I scooped up my dog, Koda, and scampered to the other side of the street just before Mr. Bear came back around the front of the house.

Koda barked. I clamped my hand around his muzzle. The bear turned and stared at us.

Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move… I repeated to myself, stuck in that classic, pre-bolt, deer-in-a-headlights stance. My brain was a cloud of instructions:

Play dead! No, that’s for grizzly bears… Why did my parents think Grizzliest Grizzly Attacks was a suitable book for a 12-year-old? Act large! That’s pretty much impossible… Clang pots and pans! I left my frying pan in the house… Stomp around! Nope, nope, nope… he looked again… That was a terrible mistake…

After what felt like an eternity Mr. Bear lumbered along his way towards my friend’s neighborhood and I took off for my house, Koda bouncing uncomfortably in my arms.

I burst through the door proclaiming to my parents that I am never leaving the house again. But now Koda is staring at me with that, I-really-really-need-to-poop face.

Wish me luck.

I miss Harold…