I'm pretty sure Sasquatch is living in my backyard
I'm pretty sure Sasquatch is alive, well and living somewhere in my backyard. Since the Little Woman and yours truly relocated about a year ago I have come to grips with having a river — some might refer it to as a creek — within a stone's throw of the kitchen window. Add to that all of the assorted wildlife that visits our backyard, much of which has been documented in this space before, and I feel as if I had become fairly comfortable with nature. I have welcomed — with open arms — all of God's creatures with fins, feathers and fur to our grounds. But the menagerie outside the kitchen window took an interesting turn a few days ago for this city boy who is still much more comfortable with asphalt, the smell of exhaust and high-rise buildings. I was alone at home when the phone rang. Daughter Melissa called, and as the conversation progressed, I had gradually moved in front of the kitchen sink, looking out the window to our own personal wild kingdom. The Little Woman loves the zoo in the backyard, and feeds the animals far more than she does me. While talking with Melissa, I noticed there was the usual assortment of birds and squirrels, which was interesting in its own right. The Little Woman had put some stale Doritos and day-old doughnuts in a bowl in the backyard, and I was watching one squirrel trying to carry the remnants of a glazed doughnut along the ground, while another sat on a tree branch gnawing on a triangle-shaped nacho cheese Dorito. Then I saw it. "Melissa!" I yelled into the phone. "What? What is it?" she yelled back. "I think we have a beaver in the backyard!" I yelled again, my voice rising as this big, furry thing made its way up the yard from down near the creek, stopping to munch on some vegetation along the creek line — and within about 20 yards of the house. Should I get a gun? But I don't have a gun, and even if I did, what would I do? I've never shot a gun. I don't even think I have ever held a gun. I'm a writer, not a fighter. "Are you sure it isn't a ... badger or something like that?" Melissa said. "No, no, no ... badgers live in Wisconsin," I said. "Don't you follow Big Ten football?" "What?" she said. "Never mind ... ," I answered, as I watched this mini-Sasquatch haul itself across the backyard right in front of my eyes. "Melissa!" I yelled again. "What? What now!?" she yelled back. "It's on the move. What should I do?" I quizzed. "Call the police, call someone!" she said. What would I tell the police? That there is an armed and dangerous varmint holding me hostage? Obviously, it wasn't armed, but I was sure it was dangerous. About this time, Lil' Sasquatch had managed to drag its hefty frame to the opposite side of the property and disappeared into more vegetation near a storage shed we have. I had the sneaking suspicion Lil' Sasquatch might be living underneath that storage shed, which I have no plans of going near anytime soon. When I finally got a hold of the Little Woman — who was out doing whatever Little Women do on a weekend afternoon — I frantically told her of my brush with death and about the huge creature holding us hostage. "Steve, it's a ground hog," she said. "Not a beaver?" I asked. "No," she said calmly. "Not a badger?" I continued. "No," she said, but not quite as calmly. The Little Woman rattled off something about calling animal control and that things would soon be better. By the time you are reading this, I promise I will have already done that, but I realize there is no guarantee that life as I knew it will return to normal anytime soon. If nothing else, I learned one thing through the ordeal.
It's a jungle out there.