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think was a oU caliber weapon of some sort. Ellen, who I thought was anything but a friend, proved me wrong by recommending that I outfox the bear by sleeping on pillows filled with stale bread and by covering my next to naked pate will slightly rancid clover honey. The bear would be attracted by the yeasty odor of the* bread, she said, and when in close olfactory range, she surmised that the bear would be forever turned off by the spoiled honey, and thus never return to bother me again.
Despite the lure of that suggestion, I opted for that old Rappahannock stand-by, however—just waiting it out.
I went to bed expecting to be awakened by the sounds of the demolition of the new ailanthus plyboard, but all I heard before I fell off to sleep were the noises cats make when they’re frightened to death. Floyd and Roger were guard-cats, as it were, but I suspect that their contracts had a maximum allowable
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