Most people spent Sunday locked in their homes because of the intense heat and humidity.
Not me and my family.
Our lockdown was caused by a supposed black bear in the neighborhood.
I woke up early Sunday and jumped on the computer to research deer ticks – but that’s another story.
While online, I happened to see people posting comments on my personal Facebook page about a black bear in the area. Not that black bear WAY over there in Hellertown. Not the one hanging out around South Fourth Street. This black bear seemed to be a lot closer.
So, I added my voice to the Facebook chatter and asked for some clarification. “Do you by any chance mean there’s a black bear in Vera Cruz," I asked?
The answer I received indicated that the bear was close enough to help me hang the wet pool towels on the clothesline.
Hmmm… It can’t still be out there, I told myself, while telling the kiddos that they needed to find something to do indoors, just the same.
At one point, my husband bravely ventured outside to water the potted plants on our back deck while I stupidly stood guard, scanning the tree line for movement, as if I really would have any clue what to do if Winnie the Pooh’s cousin sauntered up to the house.
Later in the afternoon my husband went out again, returning pretty quickly, and immediately grabbing one of our phones to “Google” something. The next thing I heard was a strange noise resembling the sound Chewbacca makes.
“That’s what I heard,” my husband said. The sound, he told us, reading from the phone, is definitely made by a black bear and it’s called bawling. It’s a noise made by bear cubs, not full-grown bears, he said.
How comforting, I thought. The bear outside our house isn’t a full-grown bear.
Nightfall came. Surely that bear can’t STILL be out there, I told myself, as I tucked in skittish children with assurances that the bear had found someplace else to go.
Monday morning the boys and I bravely headed for the car, my younger son yodeling to alert the bear that we were coming outside, so we wouldn’t startle him -- just in case.
That’s when we saw IT.
There was poop on the sidewalk next to our flowerbed. And, it was immediately obvious to all three of us what kind of poop we were dealing with. (You really CAN Google anything.)
Suddenly, I knew the truth: Bears don’t scat in the woods.