Point
the bear spray can AWAY from yourself!
by
Robert LaFrance
I was walking along Manse Hill Road
Monday evening and enjoying the fading sunshine when a large, large brown
coloured black bear ambled across the road about fifty metres in front of me.
(Only black bears are found in New Brunswick.)
Springing into action, I tugged at
the can of bear spray that I had jammed into my pants pocket. Within a minute I
had torn the pocket enough (not that I was nervous!) to get out the can. By
this time the large mammal (ursus americanus) had noticed me. I stood
stock-still except for the trembling.
Job one was to take off the plastic
piece on top of the can so I could spray. I did that in a trice and, as the
bear trotted briskly toward me, I took a look at the fine print on the can that
had cost me $30 and was guaranteed to drive off anything smaller than an
elephant.
My reading glasses were back at the
house; I knew I wouldn’t have time to dash back there and get them, so it
looked as if I would have to ‘ad lib’, and luckily I knew what ‘ad lib’ meant
because I studied Latin in high school. Teacher: Mrs. Maybelle Titus. I
remembered one day in her class when I…but then I also remembered there was a
huge brown black bear bearing down on
me, so to speak.
As the bear grew closer – in more
ways than one – I also remembered that my eyeglasses were bifocals, so I really
could read those directions. Should I shake the can? Alas, I didn’t have time
to finish reading when the bear was almost in my face and clearly wanting to
remove that face. I lifted up the can and sprayed – full force.
Did that stuff ever sting! I howled
in pain. The only other sound I heard was the bear grunting. I dropped the can
and continued howling, at an even higher volume. Why wasn’t the bear attacking?
It took at least half a minute for
me to be able to see again and when I could – remember, I wouldn’t lie to you –
I swear that bear was standing there and laughing. After watching me go through
all that crying and howling, he, or possibly she (I didn’t look) turned around
and went back into the woods.
When I got back to the house my wife
looked at my red and tear-filled face and said with her usual sympathy and
empathy: “Hurry up and wash; supper’s almost ready.”
**********************
If all goes well, and I have no
reason to think it will, I will be seventy years old on Friday, May 11. I have
set up a distribution warehouse in Perth-Andover, one in Plaster Rock and one
in Grand Falls for the hundreds (thousands?) of birthday gifts that will surely
be coming from all the faithful readers of my column.
I have already been notified that my
1971 Silver Cloud Rolls Royce is on its way by train from Nebraska. The
billionaire financier Warren Buffet emailed me last week that he was so pleased
with my column over the years that he wanted to show his appreciation. I didn’t
want to hurt his feelings, but I would have preferred a newer car, like a 2018
Camry or even a 2005 Buick LeSabre (the last year for my favourite car) in mint
condition.
Lady Gaga said she was sending me
enough 2x4s to build myself a pool hall, and several other celebrities will be
sending gifts. Bill Gates sent me a certificate saying he would be building a
public library in my name in Ernfold, Saskatchewan. “You already have great
public libraries in Victoria County, or I would have built one there,” he
wrote.
It is rather amazing that I am
almost seventy. In those seven decades I have come close to joining my ancestors about a dozen times. My brother,
now living at Victoria Glen Manor nursing home, saved my life twice, rescuing
me from in front of vehicles driven by drunks, I and several friends were in a
car that spun out on an icy mountain road on Vancouver Island in 1967, in 1973
I came within inches of walking under a falling concrete pillar as workers tore
down the old Eaton’s building at Seymour and Cordova.
Then there was the time 1975 when I
was flying in a Lockheed L10-11 and landing in Montreal after doing an aerial
ice survey of James Bay when the plane’s instrument landing system packed it in
during foggy weather. Somehow we made it. There are many more examples of close
calls and yes, I know, the real one could happen any second, maybe before this
column is even printed.
Note: That bear story might possibly
be a result of enhanced truth, or a lie, but the last part of the column is
true, oh so true.
-end-
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