Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Late night break-in by Ursa Major
Around 3:45am Sunday morning my wife and I awoke to a loud “whoomp” coming from outside the house.
20 or 30 seconds later another “whoomp”.
At first we didn’t know if someone was trying to break into one of our vehicles, our house, or a neighbor’s house or vehicle. We got out of bed and peered out the window. Neither of us could see anything in the faint moonlight.
Another “whoomp”.
We turned on some lights and peered out some other windows around the house, but still couldn’t see anything.
Yet again.
I thought if it were neighborhood kids screwing around surely the lights would alert them that we were on to them and the nonsense would stop.
Another “whoomp”.
Professional criminals? I started to get a little nervous.
Again.
I decided to go downstairs to the front door since I still couldn’t tell if it was coming from our house or a neighbor’s. Turned on the outside lights and peered out the window next to the front door. Still couldn’t see anything. WTF is going on here?
Heard it again.
In a flash of brilliance I opened the front door and walked towards the end of the porch thinking I would peer around the corner to the front of the garage and the neighboring A-frame. Those neighbors were here for Thanksgiving, but now were gone and wouldn’t be back until at least Christmas. I hoped no one was unloading the house of its contents.
Just before I get to the end of the porch the motion lights beside the garage door shut off. Awesome…..they always do that. Now it’s very silent AND dark. Even more stoked. I slowly peer around the corner and can faintly see my car. Sweet, looks just fine. I’m mildly relieved considering the Honda Civic is one of the most stolen rides in the country.
I can’t see in front of my garage door nor can I really see anything at the A-frame. Yeah, it’s pretty dark and the moonlight is still faint since we are only a few days past the new moon. I think WTF again, although I’m a lot more nervous considering I have nary a flashlight or snow shovel or anything in my hands to throw or beat someone with should I need to.
So, I decide to do the only thing I can think of to get the attention of who/whatever might be making this noise. I yell, “HEY!!!!” and clap my hands as hard as I can.
Immediately there is a very loud snort/grunt in response. Instantly, I realize that what was making the noise is not human, is in very close proximity to me, and I cannot see it. As I make this realization I proceed to crap my pants and run back to the front door. As I get inside I slam the front door shut and lock it.
I own a shot gun, but I’ve never used it since I’ve had it in Tahoe. Most of my family is really into hunting, but I’m really not. However, I’ve had it since I was in high school. In Tahoe it’s lived under our bed for a few years. I had some deer slugs for it once upon a time……”Where are the shells, where are the shells…” starts running through my head.
In a second flash of brilliance I think about opening the door into the garage, turning on the lights, and hitting the switch for the garage door opener. The garage lights will illuminate outside the garage once the door is up, I reason, and I can see what the hell is out there.
So, I open the door into the garage. My heart is pounding now. I peer in and everything looks OK. I reach down and turn on the light switch. As I look up, there is a nice-sized hole in the garage door with a bear’s head the size of my computer monitor poking through it. Both of us are momentarily motionless. The stare from his eyes is intense. There’s a red tag in his ear. I reason he’s probably had a run-in or two with Johnny Law from Jellystone National Park and he’s probably a seasoned veteran at tearing holes through garage doors as he seems to be pretty good at it.
I instantly crap my pants again as I slam door #2 and lock it.
“'F' ME, WHERE ARE MY SHELLS, WHERE ARE MY SHELLS!!…” I repeat in my mind…
Meanwhile, when I first went downstairs to investigate, my wife starting flipping through the phone book to look for the “non-emergency” number for the Washoe County Sheriff’s Office (WCSO) substation located in Incline Village. (Side note: Once you are married there’s really no point in asking “why” anymore……agree Alex? Jason?)
Upon hearing my running foot steps across the porch and hearing the front door slam shut my wife then decides, “Screw it, I’m calling 911”.
…as I bolt up the stairs my wife is telling the dispatcher that she doesn’t know if it’s a person or a bear making the noise. I selfishly and rudely interrupt, exclaiming “IT’S A F-ING BEAR!”. She repeats this to the dispatcher. “AND IT’S HUGE!”
I build things. I fix things. There’s a huge mother of a bear tearing a hole into our garage. I have horrific memories about a movie I saw as a child about a rogue grizzly bear that stalks a couple of hunters and at one point near the climax of the movie the bear springs from out of nowhere, takes a swing at one of the hunters on horseback with one of his massive front paws, and in the process takes the horse’s head cleanly off at the neck. Chaos ensues as the other hunter looses control of his horse and the bear gets away before either can get a shot off.
I can’t build anything fast enough to keep this bear from coming into the house if he wants to. We’re doubly screwed since all of my power tools are either at work, or in our garage. Well, at least this is a black bear and not a grizzly. They are WAY more docile. And generally afraid of humans. Rationalization is key when trying not to panic.
“WHERE ARE MY SHELLS, WHERE ARE MY SHELLS!!…”, again in my mind.
My wife is still on the phone with the dispatcher. I run back downstairs determined to find my shotgun shells. There’s no way in hell I’m going to go into the garage to take a shot at the bear, but should he decide he wants to leave the leftovers in the garage and get to the real food in the kitchen…well, if you’ve seen Uncle Ted Nugent (yeah, of ‘70’s Cat Scratch Fever fame) and his hunting show on OLN, well…
I search frantically for minutes for the shotgun shells, to no avail. I envision the bear exploding through the door into the house at any moment. Wait, I’m the protector now. I run back upstairs. My wife is off the phone and says WCSO is on the way. Dude, they were at IV in like 30 seconds when it was broken into and caught the kids. Were they having coffee at the Biltmore tonight? It’s been like 10 minutes. He’s either going to get away or there’s going to be a mauling. More horrific visions of help getting here “too late”.
I start planning escape routes in my mind. I can’t show fear to my wife, she’s relying on me to keep us safe (see what you have to look forward to Gaines, Segal, Andy, rest of the male population…I just heard you all stop laughing…).
Option 1: if the bear breaks in and lumbers up the stairs we’ll go out on to the back deck, jump off and run to safety. Not a very fun option considering we are on floor number 2 of our house. It’s gonna hurt, but least we’ll live.
Option 2: if the bear runs up the stairs we’ll run into our bedroom, shut the door, throw open the window, jump out and run to safety before he can tear through door #3. Not a very fun option either as we’re still on floor #2…we’ll probably still live…
I grab my car keys. My wife is starting to get really upset. Now my heart is really pounding.
Finally, 3 (no really, 3) WCSO patrol cars arrive. During my controlled panic and what felt like a really long time the bear proceeded to make an even larger hole in the garage door big enough for him to climb through. Then he climbed around all of the junk we have in there and tried to take the garbage can away with him. When it got caught up on a work bench and a step ladder he decided to just take the lone garbage bag that was in the can. Along the way he knocked a bunch of things over, drooled and slobbered all over the place, and just before exiting he thought it would be really cool to partially rip off the spout of my snow blower.
Mother Nature, I know you are giving the bears a little extra time this year to fatten up before hibernating, but my snow tires are not yet on my car, I have a much longer commute to work than last winter, one of your bears tore a massive hole in our garage door, and now my snow blower is out of commission. What else is it going to take for you to wake up the Sierra Storm King???
Sooooo, the cops looked around for a little while trying to track the bear, but had no luck finding him. They were going to contact NDOW (Nevada Dept of Wildlife) the next morning to trap the bear and relocate him. When I told them that he had a red tag in his ear their response was “Oh, that’s the 500 pounder that’s been causing a lot of damage around here lately…” Fantastic, now I’m even more stoked just waiting for round 2 to take place…it was around 4:30am when WSCO left and neither my wife nor I slept the rest of the night…
Also, while WCSO was searching for the bear our neighbors that live behind us called to ask if everything was OK. First the bear tried to get through their garage door. He was unsuccessful but still ripped part of the door jamb apart. Next, he got into their truck. Remarkably, he was able to do so without breaking the window or causing any damage what-so-ever to the door that he entered through. Once inside the truck he climbed into the back seat, broke open a Tupperware container and ate the carrots and whipped cream inside. He also left what appeared to be gallons of drool all over the interior before leaving the vehicle.
While this was going on the neighbors’ dog alerted them and eventually they were able to scare him away from their house……a little while later he started tearing our garage door apart.
As a little prelude to this story, a friend of my wife’s who was in the Tahoe area for Thanksgiving stopped by our house earlier in the day. Her toddler crapped in his diaper at some point and my wife put it in the trash and then placed the trash in the garbage can in the garage. When I got home from work my wife told me about their visit and proclaimed that due to the unbearable (pun intended) stench alone it was “the worst poopy diaper ever”.
The consolation that I have from all of this is that 1), the bear passed over a 12-pack of Bud (cans no less! easy to shotgun for a bear) and a case of Spaten Oktoberfest to get to the garbage can (stupid bear!), and 2), there’s a slight chance that after all of his efforts when he finally got the garbage bag outside in the yard and took a bite out of it that somewhere in the back of his little bear brain he said to himself “Ughhhh, this tastes like sh*t!”
20 or 30 seconds later another “whoomp”.
At first we didn’t know if someone was trying to break into one of our vehicles, our house, or a neighbor’s house or vehicle. We got out of bed and peered out the window. Neither of us could see anything in the faint moonlight.
Another “whoomp”.
We turned on some lights and peered out some other windows around the house, but still couldn’t see anything.
Yet again.
I thought if it were neighborhood kids screwing around surely the lights would alert them that we were on to them and the nonsense would stop.
Another “whoomp”.
Professional criminals? I started to get a little nervous.
Again.
I decided to go downstairs to the front door since I still couldn’t tell if it was coming from our house or a neighbor’s. Turned on the outside lights and peered out the window next to the front door. Still couldn’t see anything. WTF is going on here?
Heard it again.
In a flash of brilliance I opened the front door and walked towards the end of the porch thinking I would peer around the corner to the front of the garage and the neighboring A-frame. Those neighbors were here for Thanksgiving, but now were gone and wouldn’t be back until at least Christmas. I hoped no one was unloading the house of its contents.
Just before I get to the end of the porch the motion lights beside the garage door shut off. Awesome…..they always do that. Now it’s very silent AND dark. Even more stoked. I slowly peer around the corner and can faintly see my car. Sweet, looks just fine. I’m mildly relieved considering the Honda Civic is one of the most stolen rides in the country.
I can’t see in front of my garage door nor can I really see anything at the A-frame. Yeah, it’s pretty dark and the moonlight is still faint since we are only a few days past the new moon. I think WTF again, although I’m a lot more nervous considering I have nary a flashlight or snow shovel or anything in my hands to throw or beat someone with should I need to.
So, I decide to do the only thing I can think of to get the attention of who/whatever might be making this noise. I yell, “HEY!!!!” and clap my hands as hard as I can.
Immediately there is a very loud snort/grunt in response. Instantly, I realize that what was making the noise is not human, is in very close proximity to me, and I cannot see it. As I make this realization I proceed to crap my pants and run back to the front door. As I get inside I slam the front door shut and lock it.
I own a shot gun, but I’ve never used it since I’ve had it in Tahoe. Most of my family is really into hunting, but I’m really not. However, I’ve had it since I was in high school. In Tahoe it’s lived under our bed for a few years. I had some deer slugs for it once upon a time……”Where are the shells, where are the shells…” starts running through my head.
In a second flash of brilliance I think about opening the door into the garage, turning on the lights, and hitting the switch for the garage door opener. The garage lights will illuminate outside the garage once the door is up, I reason, and I can see what the hell is out there.
So, I open the door into the garage. My heart is pounding now. I peer in and everything looks OK. I reach down and turn on the light switch. As I look up, there is a nice-sized hole in the garage door with a bear’s head the size of my computer monitor poking through it. Both of us are momentarily motionless. The stare from his eyes is intense. There’s a red tag in his ear. I reason he’s probably had a run-in or two with Johnny Law from Jellystone National Park and he’s probably a seasoned veteran at tearing holes through garage doors as he seems to be pretty good at it.
I instantly crap my pants again as I slam door #2 and lock it.
“'F' ME, WHERE ARE MY SHELLS, WHERE ARE MY SHELLS!!…” I repeat in my mind…
Meanwhile, when I first went downstairs to investigate, my wife starting flipping through the phone book to look for the “non-emergency” number for the Washoe County Sheriff’s Office (WCSO) substation located in Incline Village. (Side note: Once you are married there’s really no point in asking “why” anymore……agree Alex? Jason?)
Upon hearing my running foot steps across the porch and hearing the front door slam shut my wife then decides, “Screw it, I’m calling 911”.
…as I bolt up the stairs my wife is telling the dispatcher that she doesn’t know if it’s a person or a bear making the noise. I selfishly and rudely interrupt, exclaiming “IT’S A F-ING BEAR!”. She repeats this to the dispatcher. “AND IT’S HUGE!”
I build things. I fix things. There’s a huge mother of a bear tearing a hole into our garage. I have horrific memories about a movie I saw as a child about a rogue grizzly bear that stalks a couple of hunters and at one point near the climax of the movie the bear springs from out of nowhere, takes a swing at one of the hunters on horseback with one of his massive front paws, and in the process takes the horse’s head cleanly off at the neck. Chaos ensues as the other hunter looses control of his horse and the bear gets away before either can get a shot off.
I can’t build anything fast enough to keep this bear from coming into the house if he wants to. We’re doubly screwed since all of my power tools are either at work, or in our garage. Well, at least this is a black bear and not a grizzly. They are WAY more docile. And generally afraid of humans. Rationalization is key when trying not to panic.
“WHERE ARE MY SHELLS, WHERE ARE MY SHELLS!!…”, again in my mind.
My wife is still on the phone with the dispatcher. I run back downstairs determined to find my shotgun shells. There’s no way in hell I’m going to go into the garage to take a shot at the bear, but should he decide he wants to leave the leftovers in the garage and get to the real food in the kitchen…well, if you’ve seen Uncle Ted Nugent (yeah, of ‘70’s Cat Scratch Fever fame) and his hunting show on OLN, well…
I search frantically for minutes for the shotgun shells, to no avail. I envision the bear exploding through the door into the house at any moment. Wait, I’m the protector now. I run back upstairs. My wife is off the phone and says WCSO is on the way. Dude, they were at IV in like 30 seconds when it was broken into and caught the kids. Were they having coffee at the Biltmore tonight? It’s been like 10 minutes. He’s either going to get away or there’s going to be a mauling. More horrific visions of help getting here “too late”.
I start planning escape routes in my mind. I can’t show fear to my wife, she’s relying on me to keep us safe (see what you have to look forward to Gaines, Segal, Andy, rest of the male population…I just heard you all stop laughing…).
Option 1: if the bear breaks in and lumbers up the stairs we’ll go out on to the back deck, jump off and run to safety. Not a very fun option considering we are on floor number 2 of our house. It’s gonna hurt, but least we’ll live.
Option 2: if the bear runs up the stairs we’ll run into our bedroom, shut the door, throw open the window, jump out and run to safety before he can tear through door #3. Not a very fun option either as we’re still on floor #2…we’ll probably still live…
I grab my car keys. My wife is starting to get really upset. Now my heart is really pounding.
Finally, 3 (no really, 3) WCSO patrol cars arrive. During my controlled panic and what felt like a really long time the bear proceeded to make an even larger hole in the garage door big enough for him to climb through. Then he climbed around all of the junk we have in there and tried to take the garbage can away with him. When it got caught up on a work bench and a step ladder he decided to just take the lone garbage bag that was in the can. Along the way he knocked a bunch of things over, drooled and slobbered all over the place, and just before exiting he thought it would be really cool to partially rip off the spout of my snow blower.
Mother Nature, I know you are giving the bears a little extra time this year to fatten up before hibernating, but my snow tires are not yet on my car, I have a much longer commute to work than last winter, one of your bears tore a massive hole in our garage door, and now my snow blower is out of commission. What else is it going to take for you to wake up the Sierra Storm King???
Sooooo, the cops looked around for a little while trying to track the bear, but had no luck finding him. They were going to contact NDOW (Nevada Dept of Wildlife) the next morning to trap the bear and relocate him. When I told them that he had a red tag in his ear their response was “Oh, that’s the 500 pounder that’s been causing a lot of damage around here lately…” Fantastic, now I’m even more stoked just waiting for round 2 to take place…it was around 4:30am when WSCO left and neither my wife nor I slept the rest of the night…
Also, while WCSO was searching for the bear our neighbors that live behind us called to ask if everything was OK. First the bear tried to get through their garage door. He was unsuccessful but still ripped part of the door jamb apart. Next, he got into their truck. Remarkably, he was able to do so without breaking the window or causing any damage what-so-ever to the door that he entered through. Once inside the truck he climbed into the back seat, broke open a Tupperware container and ate the carrots and whipped cream inside. He also left what appeared to be gallons of drool all over the interior before leaving the vehicle.
While this was going on the neighbors’ dog alerted them and eventually they were able to scare him away from their house……a little while later he started tearing our garage door apart.
As a little prelude to this story, a friend of my wife’s who was in the Tahoe area for Thanksgiving stopped by our house earlier in the day. Her toddler crapped in his diaper at some point and my wife put it in the trash and then placed the trash in the garbage can in the garage. When I got home from work my wife told me about their visit and proclaimed that due to the unbearable (pun intended) stench alone it was “the worst poopy diaper ever”.
The consolation that I have from all of this is that 1), the bear passed over a 12-pack of Bud (cans no less! easy to shotgun for a bear) and a case of Spaten Oktoberfest to get to the garbage can (stupid bear!), and 2), there’s a slight chance that after all of his efforts when he finally got the garbage bag outside in the yard and took a bite out of it that somewhere in the back of his little bear brain he said to himself “Ughhhh, this tastes like sh*t!”
Uno, dos, tres
Like a Little Debbie cupcake. Mmmm, tasty filling inside...
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