I live near a national forest, and it’s not uncommon to see minor wildlife ambling through. The biggest is a bobcat though, and we don’t have a problem with mountain lions or bears.

Unfortunately, we have a neighbor who is very irresponsible with their pet cat, whom they allow to wander around at will. Now, I don’t know whether the cat is this way because he has had to contend with various wildlife his entire life, or whether he’s just a furry little jerk, but he will fight anything his size or smaller. He’s taught another neighbor’s Scottish Terrier to fear him, and he bullies other cats mercilessly.

Then one night, he got taught a very rude lesson. It was a nice summer evening, and we had all the windows open to enjoy the cool air, when I heard a feline yowl. The neighbor’s cat had found some poor critter to pick a fight with.

Neighbor’s Cat: *Angry growl and hiss.*

Neighbor’s Cat: *Louder angry yowl.*

Neighbor’s Cat: *Furious yowling and a scream that means he’s in full attack mode.*

Neighbor’s Cat: *Sudden, very shocked, very “I regret everything in my life that led me to this moment” screech and the sound of scrambling paws as the cat flees.*

Then I uttered a string of curses and bolted for the window to close it. Outside, a small black and white animal strolled away from the light from my window.

Yep, the neighbor’s cat decided to bully a western spotted skunk, a slightly smaller, more weasel-looking kind of skunk than the usual kind. It probably looked like a small, easy victim to bully. And of course, the furry little jerk picked a fight directly outside my window, much to my dismay.

It was a week before we saw that cat again, and even then, he was never outside after dark when skunks liked to prowl.

Every time I see him, I snicker at the thought of the thoroughly skunked cat fleeing into his owner’s house: reeking to high heaven, and needing to be bathed. I also suspect his human lost a lot of blood before the stench was washed away since he was a scrappy little fighter.

Lesson learned for both of them, I hope!

My partner and I lived in Alberta for quite a long time. In 2020, he decided to move some of his belongings to Nova Scotia. (We planned to retire there together, so we wanted to take belongings there over time.) He got to the Nova Scotia border at the end of April 2020, right when the border slammed shut.

Fast forward two years. We only saw each other three times in that time period, even though we talked on the phone every day. In July, I flew to spend two and a half weeks with him. My dad was also driving across the country to meet us there to spend time with me, my partner, and his family. 

At the end of the first week, my partner and I went camping for five days, trailering our motorbikes there. (It was too far for me to drive that entire way.) The first day, there was no problem driving my bike; we spent hours all over the place. The second day, the morning was fine, although I laid the bike down a couple of times. We came up to a T intersection, I waited for traffic, and then I started around the corner. My handlebars jerked to the left, I lost my balance, and I fell with my left arm outstretched. Instant pain. I could wiggle my fingers and move my wrist. I thought it was sprained.

My partner got the bike up and yelled at me to get up, which took me a few minutes to do. He kept telling me, “It’s just a bruise, it’s just a bruise,” so I got back on that bike, lifted my left hand to the clutch, and rode the bike for a half hour back to the campsite.

Some of the other campers came over to see what had happened and got me kitted out with a sling. We stayed there until the last day of our reservation and then drove back to [Partner]’s mom’s place where he was living. [Partner]’s mom took one look at me and told me that I was going to the hospital; my arm had swollen right down to my fingertips, and my upper arm was blueish-black.

We eventually got to the metropolitan hospital, and after a few hours, they were able to see me. After TEN X-rays, I figured it was worse than a sprain. The doctor came in.

Doctor: “The good news is that you need a CT scan. The bad news is that you need a CT scan because your shoulder is broken in three places.”

We got home at about 10:00 in the morning, and Dad arrived at noon. He was NOT expecting to hear that his daughter had a broken shoulder!

They were able to get me into surgery two days after that — a full seven days after I broke it! I had a plate and screws put in, and then I had six weeks of physiotherapy. I was planning to go to my dad’s at that point, so I was happy when I went in for my surgical follow-up. I was NOT so happy when they told me that it hadn’t healed at all. In fact, the bone had slid, and screws were up in the joint space. I ended up having an emergent shoulder replacement (titanium) and a lot more physio after that.  

The total time that I spent in Nova Scotia was three and a half months — way longer than the two and a half weeks I’d planned! After that, I did go to my dad’s, and I have been there since. I was off work for thirteen months, and I went back to work for the same company with restrictions. (They were so patient; it was unreal.) It’s been a bitter pill to swallow that I’ll likely never be able to lift properly above my head or make certain other movements.

On the other hand, my physiotherapist has been a godsend, as has as my auto insurance!

Don’t be like me: when you’re hurt, get it checked out!

Our nature park has a river tour that takes visitors a few miles downstream, and then it’s a hike back to the parking lot and visitor’s center

Tourist: “How long does it take for the river to bring me back?”

Me: “What do you mean, ‘back’?” 

Tourist: “How long does it take for the river to bring me back? As in back to this spot?”

Me: “You don’t get back to this spot. You need to hike back.” 

Tourist: “But we use the tubes on the river at the waterparks back home, and they always come back around.”

Me: “Those are theme parks. This is nature.”

Tourist: “But they call them rivers!” 

Me: “Real rivers don’t go in loops.”

Tourist: “That’s stupid! You should call your rivers something else!”

Me: “I’m pretty sure our rivers came first.”

Shortly after my mum and dad got married, my dad decided they should go camping, since my mum had never been. They went with my dad’s friend and his friend’s wife. After they set up camp and had a fire going, it became dark. My mum leaned over to my dad.

Mum: “Um… I have to go to the bathroom.”

Dad: *Hands her a flashlight and some toilet paper.* “Alright, here you go.”

My mum stared at my dad like he was insane. She was a city girl and so had never not used a toilet before. The friend’s wife took my mum into the woods to do her business.

Shortly after they returned, my dad announced that he now had to pee. My mum tried to hand him the flashlight, but my dad waved it off, boldly stating that he didn’t need it. He walked off into the darkness… a few moments later he comes running back, yanking his pants into place and screaming:

Dad: “I TOUCHED SOMETHING FURRY!”

Mum and the friend’s wife got in the truck and locked the doors, while my dad and his friend grabbed flashlights, a shovel and a stick and went back to where my dad had been. They found the spot.

While my dad had been relieving himself, he had put one hand on a tree branch to steady himself. Right where he had put his hand… was a shaved baby doll’s head. And my dad, being my dad, took the head with him.

For years he would take it camping and hunting with him.

My father is a retired military man. He often tells me what fun he had back when he was in training and when they were sent on military training exercises. Here’s one of my favourites.

Back in the day, they had this nocturnal reconnaissance gig. Armed with a map and a flashlight, fitted with a red cache to keep things low-key, they had to hit every point marked on the map in the dead of night. So, off they went.

One night, the map led them to a field wrapped up in barbed wire. In the darkness, they could just about make out the shapes of cows in the field, and their meeting point was somewhere on the other side. They figured cutting through the field was quicker than going around, so up and over the fence they went.

After trudging through the field for a good ten minutes, they started hearing this heavy galloping sound tailing them. Panic set in; they had seen cows, so it might be an angry bull chasing off intruders.

They hightailed it to the other side, the galloping getting louder and closer. When they hit the barbed fence, some scrambled over, and others tore their clothes going through the wires.

Finally safe, my dad whipped out the flashlight and ditched the red cache to see what was hot on their heels.

It was a Shetland pony, innocently trotting along.