The conundrum of it all

Sasquatches are often the topic of conversation up here in the bush. On occasion all the dogs hide their tails, the cows come into the yard and form a ring around the young ones, and even the black bears give up their bashfulness and approach the perimeters of our human habitats. Those long mournful moans in the middle of the night are enough to put visions in anyone's mind. We've taken the precaution of erecting a sign for the lost tourists and odd hunters who manage to navigate our rock strewn network of perilous roads. It's just down the road a stretch from Johnny Be Good's shack because that's where most of them get seen, from a healthy distance of course because sasquatches disappear into the bush as soon as anyone approaches. You never know though, one might trip over a rock.

The truth and Johnny Be Good do walk rather loosely hand in hand, however. He still denies it was him and his two dogs all dressed up in black woolly suits that Halloween long ago, ill threatening treats or vengeance from our outlying denizens. And Johnny has been seen with a moose call strung around his neck in the most untimely seasons. Now we're not going to be the ones to start a conspiracy theory here, but it does make one think.

Anyone who's shared a swig with the good widow Rachael from her little still down the hill will recount, in their willies, wondrous tales of her wanderings in the bush and being lost for days on end to be guided back to civilization by the most gentle and noble giant creatures imaginable. She says they do smell a tad though. On one journey when she twisted her ankle she was actually carried home by a huge male who tenderly set her on her doorstep and then disappeared without a trace. And she is utterly convinced that the many small gifts left on her path to the biffy such as Saskatoon berries from the patch three miles away, or a row of neatly placed stones have been left by her hairy friends.

Then again, no one takes the good widow Rachael all that serious as she recalls her ventures in odd shaped craft which take her to Mars and beyond to sit in the galactic bars with eccentric beings whose sole purpose is to enlighten her on the opus of our universe. Mind you, she has disappeared for some pretty good stretches over the years and her old Harley was parked right beside the house, so go figure.

We have all seen some really hard to explain lights in the sky though, over the years, usually far off on the horizon out over Suckers Marsh where the geese nest. We've been told of course that it's swamp gas or northern lights but we weren't born yesterday and have a good surmise that those type of lights would not come in the flashing or steady patterned forms they often display, sitting still for aeons and then hurtling off to new adventures in the great white north. Oh the conundrum of it all, eh?

Now you keep that pot covered, and don't go spreading this all around.