Trash Walrus

The shy deer hesitates, stepping slowly onto the lawn. Her big doe eyes and graceful neck are elegant, yet all I can think is: “GET THE @#!$% OFF MY GRASS, YOU DUMB PLANT EATER!” Honestly, deer are lucky they’re so cute because they’ve ruined my yard too many times. My landscaping is one big all-you-can-eat buffet for them. However, dealing with those pesky lawn donkeys is nothing compared to what befell my yard last weekend. Imagine waking up on a gorgeous Saturday morning to your husband informing you that a bear ate the swimming pool. “…………………What?” I asked. “A bear. It ate the pool,” Jeremy said, sipping his coffee with the insouciance of a French socialite. I must be hearing things wrong. Jeremy was speaking nonsense. Wait, was I even awake? Was this some weird fever dream? I knew I shouldn’t have eaten pastrami before bed last night.

There’s no reason for a bear to stroll onto our property. We don’t have fruit trees, trash cans, or a smorgasbord of compost bins for those @#$%&*! waste walruses to gorge on. There are no berry bushes, vegetable gardens, or even bird feeders back there, so that miserable @#$%$^&* snuck in just to use the pool. Didn’t this knucklehead have a pic-a-nic backet to steal instead? We’d only invested in a small inflatable kiddie pool, so we weren’t out a great deal of money. Unfortunately, that same pool held an impressive amount of water which had unleashed a tsunami all over our yard. The lawn was a quagmire of mud and grass, my roses were upside down, and my petunias had all drowned. But that wasn’t the worst part. This bear, not content with flooding the yard, had gone out of his way to eat the kids’ water toys. The pool noodles were chomped into pieces, the goggles were cracked, and the floating donuts were popped. Every. Single. One. I couldn’t help but feel this was a personal attack. How long had that land whale been in our yard? Why hadn’t we heard anything? “Some alarm system YOU are,” I muttered to Teddy, our pint-sized terrier. He’d been snoozing while our yard hosted an all-night Ursus rave!

Outraged, Jeremy and I mopped up the yard as best we could. The lawn would dry out, but the flowers were goners. Short of digging a moat around our house, how could we stop this from happening again? We conferred with the neighbors, who were equally annoyed. One senior suggested landmines, but he was narrowly voted down. Turns out that the simplest solution is sometimes the best one. We strung fishing line on top of the fence, from which we hung tin cans filled with pebbles. If that giant garbage gopher tried to climb over, the cans would rattle, make a terrific noise, and hopefully scare said blubber ball back to Kingdom Come. I’m quite pleased with my homemade defense system; you might even say I’m “smarter than the average bear!”