Excitement certainly is building

The summer doldrums—heat and humidity—had slowed the pace of things in Drizzle Creek.
Down at The Bakery, the crew at the debating table was looking for inspiration of any kind to excite their spirits. They were relegated to listening to Moose’s witticisms on tires, troubles, and the fairer sex. Even Crawl Space Doug’s ramblings on politics, religion, and gay marriage were being given some attention.
We needed a change. Fortunately, Ginty provided it.
“You’ll never believe what we saw coming back from Lake of the Bushes,” he gushed as he pulled up to the table completely out of breath.
“You’re right, I don’t believe you, but do carry on,” shot back Pickle, who after three cups of high test had his nerves tightened to the jangling point.
“We seen a yeti,” gulped Ginty, still out of breath.
“A what-ti?” queried the Runt, who had managed to pull his attention away from trowelling peanut butter onto his toast to digest the conversation.
“A yeti! A pure white bear . . . except for his nose,” stated Ginty, a measure of composure returning now that his breathing had calmed.
“I didn’t know you were on the Churchill run. Thought CN had sold that line,” mused Pickle, holding his cup out for his fourth “free” refill.
“No, no, not Churchill, not a polar bear. A pure white black bear, in the ditch, on our way in from the lake,” protested Ginty, now somewhat put out at the skeptical reception.
“Did you get a picture of it on that new-fangled camera cellphone you’re always bragging about,” wondered the Runt as he polished off his last bite of toast and gazed longingly at the fresh tray of chocolate-covered long johns the baker had dropped on the counter.
“Well now, I never even thought of it. I guess I was too excited,” admitted Ginty, pulling out his phone and fiddling with it trying to figure out how the camera worked.
“You sure this wasn’t a Labatt’s-induced vision, Ginty?” jabbed Pickle, safely shielded by the Runt’s bulk.
“Siderod seen it, too! And since I’ve a bear licence, let’s go out and bag it, Pickle,” jabbed back Ginty, “Or are you not up to it?”
“Me? Why me” gasped Pickle, suddenly feeling himself backed into corner.
“Yeah! We’ll rub you down with bacon grease and you can bait him out for us,” explained Ginty. There were murmurs of approval all round the table, except for Pickle.
“No, no. You’d be better off to grease down the Runt and use him for a decoy,” protested Pickle, desperately looking for a way off the ropes.
‘The Runt? You gotta be kidding! We want to lure the bear out, not scare him off,” scoffed Ginty.
As Pickle’s mind kicked into high gear looking for escape, his cellphone rang and he grabbed it up.
“Hello. . . . Emergency run to the ’Peg? . . . . I’m on my way,” Pickle said, rising from the table and dropping a bill at the cash. Not even waiting for change, he rushed out the door, with just a feeble “Sorry” directed at Ginty.
“Say, if you’ve got some bacon grease to spare, I could use a couple of pounds,” the Runt proposed to Ginty.
“Why? You really going out after that bear?” Ginty questioned back.
“No, seems my new boat [RR Titanic] is a little higher than the old one and I got her stuck in the garage. I bet with a bit of the proper lubricant, I could skid ’er out without a lot of unnecessary disassembly or damage. Sure would make the Missus happy to have her garage back,” explained the Runt as he accepted another refill.
It was all the inspiration I could stand for one morning. I hurried home to snooze through the heat of the day in the shade out on the deck.

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