About an hour after I sent out my last Ramble on the imaginary bears, I set out for another noontime run with my best friend, Sunny Hot.
“Where are you going?” Alan asked.
“Just over to the lake and the little lookout. I’m not running with the bears today,” I joked.
He smiled and said, “Bears are over there too.”
I laughed and jogged up the driveway. I was just going for a short run. I didn’t even bring water.
As I trotted along, I kept replaying my little jokes and laughing to myself. Charcoal’s cub, Blackie. The scrawny mean one, Postal. In real life he is a mailbox. Chuckle. It was quite fun to write about my imaginary bear friends, but true comedians probably do not get such a kick out of themselves as I do.
As with most road runs, my mind wanders. I don’t need to be on high alert for trail hazards or wild beasts, so my head can go wherever it pleases. I was thinking about my Rambles and the fun little notes people have sent to me. (I do exist on the other side of this email, so if you hit reply, I will get it.) I forgot about the heat as I jogged around the little lake. I threw in a couple of sprints just to see if the old legs had any speed. A dog with a nasty bark sounded like he wanted to join me, and I was mad that I forgot to strap the little pepper spray to my waist. The dogs are likely more dangerous than the bears.
I was enjoying the last downhill section on the road that butts up against the forest when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move in the trees to my left. I looked closer, and it’s brown and furry. Just a deer. It can’t be a bear, I tell myself. I slow down, look harder, and make out the rounded back and the stubby legs. Oh my gosh, IT IS A BEAR. What the...? I stop and watch as he waddles along, head down, paying no attention to me about 20 yards away.
Is he real? I don’t trust my eyes. And in those brief seconds, I'm thinking…No one is going to believe this. I just wrote about all those imaginary bears. Is he real? He’s real. I need a picture. I stealthily pulled my phone out of my pocket and held it up. I hit the button a few times, hoping he was in the frame. He kept walking, head down, in the opposite direction I was going. I kept looking back, but he had disappeared into the scrub oaks.
