Dad just showed me a bunch of bear tracks leading up our driveway to the overturned garbage can beside the deck.
According to our calculations, the bear wandered into the yard around 10:30 p.m. yesterday, while I was inside, alone, watching Criminal Minds. Already scared shitless.
My thoughts, which I expressed out loud (probably much to my Pop's dismay): "My god! I feel so violated!"
Followed by: "Well, we definitely have to remember to lock the doors now!"
This last phrase I really wish I had kept to myself. To my credit, I was talking about the sliding doors in the basement. Those things don't seem too sturdy. And bears have nimble fingers. Or is that raccoons?
I looked up after my very worried statements, to see my Dad looking at me.
The look on his face said "How did I raise such an irrational, flighty, dimwitted daughter?"
Gene pool, Papa. It's all in the gene pool.
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