By Maryanna Gabriel
Am madly packing. Close encounter. Oh, a wee cub… I’ll snap a picture, I say to myself and move slightly closer. So cute. Where's his mother, by the way?
He charged. A beeline right for me.
 |
| "Where's my hotdog..." |
Human. Food. Like he
was starving, and I'm going to hand him a free lunch. Maybe a hot dog in a nice bun. Startled, I duck behind the shrubberies and back up. I have a ground floor unit and I make it
to the door and close it firmly behind me. He follows me and stands on his
hind legs as I watch him through the window.
I was worried about the four-year-old
girl, a tiny thing who plays next door and after some time, when I thought when he had moved on, I brave the driveway, and leave a warning note on their door.
Last night, he banged alongside my bedroom window.
No more, Ms. Nice, it's my wall. Bug off. I decide it's time I scare him off. I flash the outdoor
light and bang the front door as loudly as I can, a sure-fire technique. But no. Not so much. In his mind? Hotdogs. Maybe I look like one. I should check the mirror.
As before, he raced right to me, stood on his legs, and clawed at the front door while I quickly move inside. I peer at him through the side window. He sidles to same window and looks in as his
little paw claws are poised against the glass. Gosh the claws are long.
We were a foot apart...
That’s when he bares his little cub teeth and gnaws on the glass. Gnaws on the glass? I jerk myself out of his, now not-so- cute, line of vision.
I’ve been thinking. He runs faster than I do.
Conservation officer. First thing Monday morning.