A Journal of my adventures in the world I inhabit while I'm asleep.
I’m camping with my wife and son along a river. A park ranger walks through the campground carrying a rifle, warning everyone that a vicious black bear is on the loose. It attacked a family in a nearby campground, they think it might be rabid. The ranger is asking for volunteers, anyone carrying weapons, to help go after the bear.
I have a small pistol with me; another guy has a shotgun. We both volunteer. We find the bear’s tracks along the river, and start following them upstream. I spot the bear in the bushes at the water’s edge, call out to the ranger.
The ranger fires at the bear but it’s not a good shot, it’s only wounded. The bear charges at us. We all run like hell up the hill, and hide behind a cement water channel near the edge of a cliff above the river. The ranger drops his rifle while running, and can’t go back to get it, the bear is too close.
As the bear approaches, the guy with the shotgun gets ready to blast it. The ranger says he should be the one to shoot it, so the guy tosses him the gun. The ranger stands up, and as the bear is charging he shoots it point blank from about five feet away, killing it instantly.
The bear tumbles off the cliff, dead, and starts floating down the river. I ask the ranger if we are going to go recover the body and report the kill.
He says, “No, let someone else find it. That way there I won’t have to fill out the paperwork.”