Sometimes You Just Have To Bear With Them
(A bear breaks into our basement. The only reason I know it is there is because the dog is going insane at the basement door. I go downstairs to see what he is barking at, and there is a bear sleeping in the corner. Where I live, animal control is only accessible through the police department. I pick up the phone and call 911.)
Dispatcher: “911. What is your emergency?”
Me: “A bear has broken into our basement and I need animal control to move it.”
Dispatcher: “So you have an intruder in your house?”
Me: “I guess you could call it that.”
Dispatcher: “Are you in a safe place?”
Me: “Uh, no. There is a bear in the basement.”
Dispatcher: “Are they armed?”
Me: “Uh, sort of. They have big teeth and really sharp claws.”
Dispatcher: “Can you give a description?”
(At this point I realize she is just following the emergency response card, and not really listening.)
Me: “Yeah, he looks like Smokey the Bear.”
(She never gets it through her head that we need animal control. Two officers arrive, with their hands on their weapons.)
Officer #1: “Where is the intruder?”
(I think to myself, “That figures. The moron forgot to tell him it’s a bear.” I show the officer the door. He comes back up looking as if he has seen a ghost.)
Officer #1: “Oh, you meant a bear bear?”
Me: “What kind of bear did you think I meant? A big, hairy, gay guy?!”
(Finally they called animal control, who sedated the bear and returned it to the wild.)
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