Reflections on the Ninth Week of Summer – Arooooo 

Two country encounters inspired the following short story which I submitted to the Pennwriters Area 1 picnic contest Saturday.

1) Observing the 250 to 300 pound black bear that lounged in a neighbor’s maple tree for seventeen hours.

2) Enjoying a neighbor’s beagle that wandered the neighborhood, frolicked with Spence and me on walks, and laid his head on my lap several times.

The contest rules stipulated I include twelve barber shop words. I didn’t win, but you can. For those who like a challenge, look for the barber shop words in the story and compare them to the list at the end. Let me know how you did.

Arooooo

Arooooo. Arooooo.

From half a mile away, Blaze’s howl pierced Tara. What bothered the beagle? She pushed the gas petal to the floor.

Gravel sprayed.

Dust billowed behind her jeep racing on the Western Pennsylvania back road.

After their mile walk during her lunch hour, Tara had left Blaze curled on his dog bed. She even tucked an old tie-dye sock beside him to chew when he woke.

Tara skidded to a stop in front of Greg’s log house, yanked the keys out of the ignition, and ran to the front door. She could fetch her purse and the students’ art exams later.

Arooooo. Arooooo.

Fingers shaking, Tara stuck the key into the door knob. She swiveled the knob four times before remembering she’d locked the bolt too. Some care taker. She hoped her fiancee wouldn’t regret leaving his beagle in her charge while he fought forest fires in California.

Unlocking the bolt, she swung the door open. “Blaze!”

The beagle whimpered in the kitchen.

Pocketing the key, she closed the front door, jogged down the hall, and opened the kitchen door.

Across the room, Blaze pawed the trim Greg had attached around the sliding glass door.

Tara reached for the retractable leash hanging beside the door. “Some howl, Blaze.” Kneeling, she attached the safety collar, hooked the lead, and patted the beagle. “What’s wrong?” She glanced out to the deck. A bumblebee buzzed around the asters Greg grew in his beer barrel planter. Bees wouldn’t bother Blaze. “Did a squirrel torment you? Do you have a potty emergency?”

Blaze cocked his head and barked. His brown eyes could convince Tara to do anything.

“Okay. We’re going. Stay close.” She turned the latch and slid the door open.

Darting outside, Blaze extended the lead two yards before Tara could press the break button. “Not so fast, fella.”

Blaze halted a second then dragged her to the towering oak at the edge of the deck. Rising on his hind legs, he stretched his front paws onto the scaly trunk.

Arooooo. Arooooo.

 

“No tree climbing, Blaze.” She pulled the lead.

Though Blaze’s head tilted, he back away.

“Greg told me to keep you close, silly dog.” Lunging toward Blaze, she shortened the lead to a yard and locked it. “Such a fuss about a squirrel gathering acorns.”

Tara turned her head to locate the nut-gathering critter and gasped.

No squirrel.

Dangling nuts―encased in the scrotum of a reclining black bear.

Blaze bayed.

The scream growing inside Tara’s paralyzed body stayed inside. Greg had warned her to wear a bear bell when she gardened alone―snipping basil or combing the garden for butternut squash. A bell ringing now wouldn’t prevent this massive bear from venturing into the yard.

Seven feet above her, the bear lifted his head and shifted his gaze to the beagle.

Praying she wouldn’t puke, Tara searched her mind for more of Greg’s wisdom. Hold your hands over your head and make a lot of noise. Great. Blaze had the noise part down, and, from her position under the bear, holding her hands over her head couldn’t convince him she stood taller.

Blaze’s tail whipped.

The bear pushed against the branch, lifted his head higher, and tucked his snout to his chest.

If the branch cracked under the bear’s weight, he would crush Blaze and Tara eliminating the need to bite or claw them. Not the style of death she preferred.

She had to get Greg’s beagle inside.

Willing her arm to hold as stiff as the marble in Michelangelo’s “David,” Tara plastered her arm against her ribs and backed one baby step.

Blaze whimpered.

Tara gulped bile and backed another step.

Blaze turned to her.

The bear rested his head on the branch with his snout pointing down. Brown fur lined the snout and contrasted with his smooth black face. If only Greg had put a teddy bear on the branch for a joke.

She took a third step back.

With a whimper, Blaze followed.

After what seemed like an entire school year, rivers of perspiration striped the sides of her blouse, and her foot bumped the edge of the deck. Tara grabbed Blaze, jumped onto the deck, and hustled inside.

She lowered the wiggling, whining beagle to the floor and leaned against the closed door. Tara closed her eyes and envisioned the bear crashing through the glass to maul the annoying beagle.

She had to quiet Blaze. Removing his leash, she grabbed a squeaky-toy bone and tossed it toward the refrigerator.

Blaze scampered, pounced, and chewed.

Tara took a long calming breath. Now she needed to make the bear leave so she could take Blaze for his evening walk. If only a thunderstorm would come and wash the beast out of the tree. Not likely on the sunny October day.

Calling Greg wouldn’t help. He might not be in cell range, and she didn’t want him suggesting she take Blaze to her apartment near the high school.

Blaze ambled to his water bowl and lapped.

The biology teacher would know what to do, but he’d probably shoot the bear then mount the head for the faculty room. Not a choice.

She collapsed onto a kitchen chair and dropped her head to the table. Maybe she’d have to call 911 and get an escort back to town. In frustration, she banged her fists on the table and hit a magazine. Greg’s copy of Pennsylvania Hunting & Trapping Digest. Duh. She could call the game commission.

“No,” the voice at the end of the line said. “Don’t try to move the bear.”

“Will he stay perm . . . perm . . . permanently?”

A chuckle came over the line. “He’ll leave when he’s ready. In the meantime, tie up your dog.”

Blaze lay his head on Tara’s lap. He looked up with those big, brown eyes and wagged his tail.

“You want to go for a walk.”

He barked twice.

Tara gazed at the black bear against the golden oak-leaf background. She could paint that picture for Greg’s homecoming next month. In the meantime, Blaze needed a walk.

She reattached the leash, locked the retracted lead, and stuffed a plastic bag into her pocket. In town, she’d have to collect the beagle’s poop.

Blaze turned toward the glass door.

“We’re going out the front.” She guided him down the hall, turned one lock, and hustled the beagle into the dog crate Greg put in the jeep because he thought she would come to her senses and move  Blaze to town. She hadn’t changed her mind, but she’d use the crate. “You can howl at the football players on the practice field. They might howl back.”

Tara started the jeep. “After our walk, you can nap on your dog bed while I grade the art exams. But first, I’ll bake you biscuits for being so brave with the bear.” She eased down the country road.

No gravel spit.

No dust rose.

No howl pierced Tara.

Barber Shop Words

Bell Buzz Comb Curl Dye Perm

Snip Stripe Style Swivel Trim Wash