Rocks and Bears

I spent most of Saturday inside with the boys and by the time 5 o’clock rolled around, I was ready for a change of scenery. Even a repeat of Tuesday’s ‘stop at Starbucks for hot chocolate and go to the reservoir’.

At least we mixed it up. I strapped Percy in his stroller and the boys hopped on their extra-wheeled bikes and we headed towards the bridge in the Weaselhead Nature Preserve. And the boys threw rocks. And I took pictures of them throwing rocks and doing their best to immerse themselves in water-mud while not overtly disobeying my clenched-teeth-threats.

It felt good to be outside. To walk. To breathe in unconstrained air. To consider being mauled by a bear.

‘Would a bear attack us if he saw us?’ the worry[G]art asked as we made our way back to the car. I considered, briefly, telling him ‘no’. Because maybe if I fibbed, if he found himself face to face with a bear he would approach the situation with a modicum of positivity and relaxation. You know, because I’d told him that bears don’t attack humans. So, what’s there to worry about?

Or maybe he’d sound like Adam Sandler in Waterboy: ‘My mama says bears don’t attack people.’

But I decided to speak the tactful truth. Or at least the little bit I know. Back away from the bear slowly. Speak quietly. Something like that?

‘Maybe, if I had my bike, I could leave it [in the path] and then the bear might trip over it,’ my mini MacGyver schemed. And, who knows, maybe he’s right. Maybe a bear would trip over a bike and it would slow him down, or distract him enough, to forget about chasing the skinny blond boy before him.

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