I was puttering around the kitchen this morning. Making coffee. Taking the salmon out of the brine to dry on racks before smoking. You know, the usual. (I should also brag that it was about 630 and I got up without prodding. It was a proud moment.) Ole dirty fisherman asked me if I was downstairs. I said no. Then he said he thought he heard something knock over the garbage can.
I toddled out to the porch and lo--a sow and her two cubs were about to eat our garbage. I shut the door. "Honey," I trilled "There's a bear in our trash." tDF got up and went outside to shout at the bears. I probably should have done than initially, but I wanted the both of us to go out as 2 people are much scarier than one little 120# person.
The bears took off and I cleaned up the mess. Thankfully they didn't eat anything just knocked the can over. As a precaution, we emptied the garbage can and took the trash to the dump. We'll probably do that for the next week or so. Bears will return at least 3 times if they get their paws on a treat. The last thing we need is for a mama bear to be teaching her two cubs that this is an easy meal.
No photo. I didn't see the camera and there is something less-than-great about taking a picture of your screw up. (We are supposed to keep our trash in such a way that bears will not be attracted to it.) In general, we dispose of our truly stank trash--like fish ick--away from the house. It's people's responsibility to keep bears relatively wild, I sort of take that seriously.
Holy mother of pearl was that sow big.