Mojo tries to live a carefree life with few regrets. And usually, she's pretty successful at that, despite her silly Blog o' Complaints. But there is a recent moment in time I am now regretting, with a sort of vague sadness.
Let us cut to about a month ago, when I first reported about Problem Bear. I didn't name him. The honkin' big red tags stapled to his ears named him. "Problem Bear" is actually a technical term used by Fish & Wildlife folks to designate a bear that has become habituated to people and hence become a problem hanging around houses, dumping people's garbage, etc. While some people think it's "cute" to have wild animals eating food off their porches or sniffing at their window screens, it becomes far less cute when the animal starts destroying property or killing livestock or frightening defenseless little housewifey ladies.
So anyway, I go out to try to scare off Mister Problem Bear, and when I present myself to him and yell at him in my finest Fishwife Voice, he pays me practically no heed. We're about twenty feet from each other, me in my bathrobe trying to yell all scary, and him eating blackberries and just sort of looking at me between mouthfuls.