It’s fall in Montana which means that the bears are on the move — there’s been a black bear down in the creekbed woods behind the dog park where we walk and last night Raymond came home covered in bear shit.
Bad dog got washed with cold water from the hose in the backyard. Bad dog got washed with the stinky leftover orange-rosemary shampoo that he hates — I keep hoping this will deter him from rolling in stinky dead things, however, I seem to be hoping in vain.
I haven’t seen the bear, but we’re all having trouble with dogs and bear shit. So far this fall we’ve had a young buck moose in town, but no real bear stories yet — it’ll happen. There’s always a bear story in the fall.
At least they haven’t gotten lice yet this year. Yet.