God's Problem Bear...

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. More Mojo!>>

At Least SOMETHING Works As Planned....

So this morning I am bopping around, doing my morning computer things, when the dog and the cat both come piling into the dog door like the Three Stooges minus one. And Rosie, the more demonstrative of the two, runs to the dining room and starts staring wildly at something out the window, so I figure something's up.

Sure enough, there's a moving black form between the garden fence and a line of an impenetrable thicket of blackberry briars. A bear. And I'm still in my bathrobe. More Mojo!>>

Only In The Sticks....

So I'm sitting on the couch, cleaning up some cels I've painted. The dog, Rosie, has assumed her typical position on the stairs just above my head, sticking her cowardly nose between the curtain and the window so she can watch anyone or anything should they come up the driveway to attack us. And all of a sudden she starts barking as viciously as possible. Rosie's not a barker, so I know something's out there. Probably our neighbor, walking his dog. So I get up to look out the window to see what's up. More Mojo!>>

Where Have All the Young Squirrels Gone?

It's Wildlife Week here on the Craptacular, mostly because there has been such a rash of sightings and encounters Mojo can scarcely leave her house without shooing away a variety of beasties and whatnot. Which she finds to be one of the may pleasures of life in the sticks. Others are not so happy with, say, her resident garter snakes or the simple fact that her mowing the lawn each week calls up whole herds of frogs and toads hopping ahead of the mower like a plague. More Mojo!>>

Don't Click on This

If you're one of those people who are clapping their hands over their ears and screwing their eyes shut whenever someone mentions the possibility of sharing a Harry Potter spoiler, boy oh boy are you going to HATE this. Guaranteed! So don't click, okay? Mojo has enough on her plate without the added burden of Ruining Your Life. Even though I suspect if you are over the age of--oh, let's be generous and say THIRTY--your life pretty much REQUIRES ruining just to shake you up until you live it. More Mojo!>>

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