The Bear Hunt

By

Tina Parker

We had an understanding, me and that bear. He’d come just close enough to the house to get his leftovers I put out for him. He seemed smart enough to figure that the clothes line was as close as he could get. He didn’t even try to nose through the trash cans out by the back porch.

That bear usually waited a few minutes after I put the food out. I’d have time to get back in the house before he came out of the woods behind our property and began to sniff for the food. I’d study on him every night when he came out to steal the food back into the woods. I knew the deep black of his fur and the cut of his paws, pointed when raised and rounded when it was time to dig into our leftover hog jowls.

That’s how I hit on the contents of that package in my deep freezer. Those paws. When I saw them ziplocked with flesh-colored meat, I knew I hadn’t stumbled on my frozen chicken breast.

"Lonnie," I hollered up to my husband who was propped on the couch waiting for his dinner. "What the hell’d you do to my bear."

"What bear," he called back.

"The bear I fed leftovers to and named Boo-Boo."

"Why me and the boys killed him days ago," Lonnie called back in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it were as simple as counting eggs.

"This," I began and stomped upstairs, ziplock bag in tow. "This is my bear?" I finished as I waved the bag in his face.

"Yeah," he said as he gulped down some Coke. "We’re saving them parts. Had to cut him up, you know. Put aside the gall bladder for the best eating and save the bear paws. Them’s valuable."

"I don’t give a damn about valuable. That was my bear." I could feel my face flushing as I continued, but I didn’t care to let my anger show. "I haven’t said a word for the 15 years you been hunting with the boys, but what were you doing pulling that rifle on Boo-Boo? And him right there in the backyard, not hurting anybody."

"Way I see it," Lonnie began, his voice calm and low. "We just kept something bad from happening. That bear was bound to chase down one of the neighbors, bite somebody, or run one of the kids into the road. What would you have thought about Boo-Boo then?" Lonnie asked as he got up for another Coke.

"I’ll tell you what I’d have thought. I’d have thought that you are a bastard and blamed it all on you. You and your boys who are so lazy you can’t even go out into the woods to hunt like any other man would," I cut Lonnie off by blocking the kitchen doorway with my arm. I grabbed his can drink and threw it to the floor, causing pools of sticky liquid to ooze across the tile and onto the living room carpet. Lonnie just watched the drink sneak across the floor and finally looked up at me blankly.

"Damn Mary Ann," he said. "If it means that much to you, I’ll save you one of them bear paws. I was going to sell them all at the pawn shop, but maybe you can keep one to use as a key chain for good luck."

I pushed him aside and walked back into the living room, paying no mind to the tracks of Coke I took along with me. I went back down to the deep freezer and found that chicken. I brought it up and began to cook my chicken casserole---Lonnie’s favorite.

Lonnie didn’t think any more of the bear until a few days later when he went to take my Nova to the shop for a tune-up. He went to get the keys from a hook in the kitchen and saw a paw hanging there, limp and crusty from freezer burn. He just took the keys and smiled, thinking he’d won.

He didn’t even notice that I hadn’t eaten any of that chicken casserole. But he’ll remember when he goes to get those other three paws out of the freezer. Then he won’t even have to bother with the pawn shop.