So, Mark and Katie keep talking about this place called Alaska and how special it is and how amazing it’s going to be. Well, naturally I got excited. I mean, dolphins, whales and sea lions are kind of what I live for these days. Throw in some salmon carcasses and some bull kelp and I figured this might be where I settle down eventually. That is until I started doing a little online research and found out Alaska’s dirty little secret. That place is crawling with bears. And I’m not talking about the cuddly little Missoula Valley black bears, people. I’m talking about 1500 pound, salmon fed, golden retriever eating machines.
They wanted me to come, in fact they practically begged me to come, but I politely declined. I think they take me for some kind of a ferocious bear maiming hound from the steppes of Eastern Russia or something, and that’s just not me. If they ever need protection from squirrels or lizards, or smallish waterfowl, I’m their guy, but this bear watching thing is just going too far.
I called up Grandpa Mike and Grandma Judi and asked if I could crash on their couch for the summer (although I’ll work my way into the master bed before they know what hit ’em). I’ve heard legend of daily five mile walks, air conditioned quarters, scraps from the table, and snuggling like you wouldn’t believe. When Katie and Mark come back to pick me up in a few months, I have a feeling they’re going to have to drag me away kicking and screaming.