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
Enjoyed the story and the photos!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Catherine.
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