It's not any fun to have your weekly trash pick-up fall on a Monday. You're still coming off the weekend, and let's face it, Sunday night is not a fun time to take the sweep through the house's wastebaskets. During the summer, I have to set my alarm to take the trash out on Monday morning -- the truck usually comes by around 8:30 a.m., which is OK during the school year when I'm already up, but is rather sudden during vacation.
This morning I set my alarm for 7:30 and was up at 7:40. What greeted me was this:
Well, not really that. That, but covered with torn up bags and trash. The can was on its side and everything had clearly been pawed through. "Everything" being all the expired and tired food I pulled out of the cupboards a couple days ago in a downsizing madness. (All the powdery stuff is soy flour, I think. Soy flour.)
I told Matt I was pretty sure we had a bear.
I went out and started gathering up all the crap and noting what had been eaten and what hadn't. Stale pasta and chewed-up corn cobs, no. Overdue marshmallows, yes. Chicken skin, no. Forgotten almond bark that had waxed and waned a couple times, yes. Watermelon rind, no. Half-full tube of frosting, well:
When I was almost done, I found the scat. And what a scat! I will refrain from posting a picture of it (although I did take one), but it was huge. It must have weight more than a pound.
By that time, I had filled up the trash can. I took it down the driveway and found the bear's trail. Not that it was hard -- I just followed another frosting tube and a freshly killed lollipop.
The trail was fresh -- half the prints were mud (top half of the photo), and half were water (bottom):
The pad was about four inches across.
So if I had gone out at 7:30, maybe I would have seen it! I'm going to put up the trail cam tonight. Not that I want it to come back.