. . and so the animal activists remain disappointed as New Jersey’s Black Bear hunt began at dawn today. We are live from West Milford, New Jersey. Angelina Urisdae. Fox 5 news.”
Randall Beck switched off the television, picked up his hunting gear, checked his permit and headed out the front door. Outside he paused, breathing deeply filling his lungs with the cold, crisp December air. Great weather for hunting he thought until a piercing voice disrupted his musings.
“Good morning Mr. Beck.”
A frustrated sigh escaped Randall’s lips as he turned to regard his neighbor, Margaret Cassidy, or “magpie” Maggie as he called her. Beck glanced longingly towards his battered Ford pickup that sat several feet away from him. I’ll never make it he thought. Having no other recourse Randall dropped his backpack, put on his best ‘how-nice-to-see-you’ face, and greeted his chatty neighbor.
“Good morning Mrs. Cassidy, you’re up early.”
Glancing at the hunter’s attire and especially at his rifle, Margaret’s eyes filled with disapproval. Patting her gray-black hair, Maggie said, “I was just watching the news. You’re not really going to participate in that awful bear hunt.”
“Mrs. Cassidy, I really don’t have time for ─
His neighbor interrupted, “You know, everything has a right to live.”
Antsy to be on his way, Randall let the false smile slide from his face and said, “Mrs. Cassidy, the law says that I can hunt, so I hunt. I enjoy hunting. This is what they call a management hunt. All classes, male and female black bears are legal to harvest. I’m actually doing a public service. These animals wander into people’s backyards and go where they don’t belong.”
“Don’t belong? Really, Mr. Beck these bears were here long before you or anyone else. I-
Randall cut her off, “I’m sorry. I have to be going.”
Hefting his backpack and rifle, he walked to his pickup and tossed his gear into the truck bed. The driver side door creaked alarmingly as Randall yanked it open. Stowing the rifle on the gun rack behind the truck seat, the hunter climbed into the pickup, stuck the key into the ignition, and turned it. Nothing happened.
“Seems it isn’t just me that doesn’t want you to go hunting,” said a smug Mrs. Cassidy.
“Funny,” muttered Randall.
Silently counting to ten, he tried the key again. After a false start, the truck roared to life, belching blue smoke from its tail pipe. Randall reached out and closed the driver side door. As the hunter began to drive off he said, “See you later, Mrs. Cassidy.”
An odd glint in her eyes, she replied, “I expect you will, Mr. Beck, I expect you will.” She stood watching Randall drive away as her husband, Herb, joined her.
“Off on a hunt is he?”
Pushing back a stray lock of his gray hair, Margaret replied “Yes dear, I’m afraid so.”
#
Randall arrived at the hunting grounds full of energy and determination. He would bag himself the biggest bear around. He drove his truck to a secluded spot and shut off the engine. The pickup rattled for a moment and then gave a dying gasp. Leaping out of the truck, he snatched up his rifle and backpack, and strolled into the woods.
After an hour of walking, he picked up the trail of a bear, its tracks pressed into in the soft soil. The hunter found other obvious signs along the trail: A worn spot on a tree where the bear had stopped to scratch itself, bear droppings and broken branches. The scat was fresh, which meant the animal could not be that far from Randall. Closer inspection revealed human footprints among the bear tracks. Damn he thought someone is ahead of me.
