Monday, January 28, 2008

Bearly Here

Hello, Wilbur Hucks here. I haven't posted for a blue moon, seems like. We're all kinda quiet this year. I gotta tell ya, life is different in Kanner Lake from when we started this blog. So much has happened here. I never did see a little town like this one make the national news so much in such a short time. Oh, things have calmed down again--for now. But after three different whopping events, we can't quite get the hang of settling down for good. Sort of like an itchy feelin' in your drawers. Keeps you wiggling around, not quite able to scratch the thing. Here at Java Joint we can't help but wonder what's coming next.

Anyway, I'm supposed to be the storyteller of this here group, so I'd better pull out one. Now of course, all my stories are true, even though folks'll look ya straight in the face and tell ya they ain't. I figure it's their loss if they don't want to believe what I tell 'em.

So here's the story when I took on a bear--bare-handed. Well, more like footed.

Since we were youngsters, old Wally Keller had been telling me he wanted to sneak up on a black bear and give him a boot in the pa-toot. Don't ask me where he got such a fool notion in his head. I told him from the start he was a downright idgit, but he kept on. Then he started calling me chicken 'cause I didn't want nothing to do with it. Nobody calls me chicken. Even at the age of eight. I told Wally if he and I ever got the chance, I'd be the one to give it to the bear. Fifty-some years went by. Wally and I grew up. Wally and me went off to war and came back. (Thank the Lord.) Wally got married; I got married. We both had kids. Had us some good times with our families and some bad. In all the ruckus of life in general, we forgot about that childhood promise.

Then one day when Wally and I were hiking, lo and behold out of the blue we came up on a big black bear napping in the sun with his head resting on his paws. Wally pointed at the huge critter and then aimed his finger at me. I was about to shake my head no when Wally mouthed "You're chicken." Well, he's right about that. But then I got to thinking, doggone, we'd waited over half a lifetime for that moment, and could this war veteran just walk away? Right then and there my decision was made.

I snuck up on that bear so quiet it would have made Daniel Boone proud. Got my feet set for running, hands up and fingers spread for balance. Holding my breath. Up came one foot while I made good and sure I was stable on the other. Then I let my boot fly. Tell you what. That bear let out a howl the likes you never heard and took off like he'd been shot out of a cannon. Likely didn't stop until he crossed the state line.

Wally and I fell on the ground laughing until we near split our guts. I came back from that hike with the proof I'm no chicken, though I suppose you could call me a durn fool. But I had me a good story to tell.

Wanta hear it in person? (It's a whole lot better with hand and food gestures.) Come visit us at Java Joint. Only--stay off the stool near the counter. It's mine.

Posted by ~ Bailey Truitt @ 7:00 AM
Wilbur, I love your stories. Maybe they are true--about 1%. Perhaps they're highly aggrandized?
Posted by Anonymous Justin : 5:22 PM
Don't go using big words with me, young man. I might have to agh! ran d eyes on you.
Posted by Blogger Wilbur Hucks : 5:24 PM
I loved this story, my boy's got a real (kick) out of it too.
Posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 4:54 PM
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