“Any wildlife sightings?”
At first I didn’t mind the question. It seemed an obvious thing to ask one of Canada’s new arrivals. After all, the country is packed with wild, hirsute beasts rampaging across icy tundra, occasionally terrorizing good country folk, isn’t it?
I emailed back to my over eager overseas pals.
“Not yet. Still early days, of course.”
Well, early days became a week, a week a fortnight, and then …
“Any wildlife sightings?”
Darn. Do they think Barrhead is a game reserve?
I thought hard for 30 seconds, quelling an outrageous lie about a grizzly attack. Best be honest about these things, I concluded, so I gave it my second best shot.
“Nope, but I’ve seen plenty of cows. Cows, cows and more cows. Oh yes, sheep as well. And some horses.”
Cows? Sheep? It lacked a certain wow factor. It sounded hopeless. In fact, it was hopeless.
Truly, truly, mindblowingly hopeless.
I was suddenly in desperate hunter’s mode, scanning every highway and byway, dell and dale, field and parkland for anything remotely wild. If there was something lurking under a park bench, it would be discovered.
Surely nothing could escape such X-ray vigilance.
And then …
“Any wildlife sightings?”
Darn it. Double darn it. Triple darn it. I wasn’t ready. Not in a way to inspire the deepest envy and amazement.
This time I chose honesty with a few creative trimmings.
“Well, I did see this deer in a field the other day. Oh boy, was it ever acting weird? It must have been high. It was bounding about, kicking up its hind legs and …”
Hopeless again, of course. Ridiculous even.
But a hunter never gives up, not a desperate one, not one whose next destination is Hard Luck Canyon, 20 kilometres outside Whitecourt. Bears aplenty, for sure. And if not bears, then cougars, elk, moose and coyotes.
The Eureka moment was about to arrive. I had a nose for it. A smattering of bear droppings was a good sign and then … hang on … what was that hidden among the rocks? I crawled about and emerged with my trophy.
It was wild in a dusty sort of way … but not exactly lifelike. Half the requisite criteria, but I needed convincing.
“Look!” I cried. “Look what I’ve found.”
“An old moose jaw. Big deal,” someone muttered.
Moose jaw? I thought. Moose jaw? If it’s going to be bloody dead, then at least let it be a dinosaur bone. Better still a T-Rex mandible. Now that contains a mega wow factor.
Please God, please let it be a dinosaur. Let it be a T-Rex.
If not, then I will have to take the nuclear option. I swear it. The next time a friend asks “any wildlife sightings?” I will give him a blasting.
“Wildlife? I’ll give you wildlife. How’s this for a sighting? I was going for a walk yesterday, minding my own business, when I saw a giant grizzly – no make that an army of giant grizzlies – burning up the highway to Barrhead, their ferocious jaws agape, fangs gleaming, claws ready to rip someone apart. Oh boy, you should have seen them …”
To hell with honesty. Honesty is for chumps.
Postscript: Spotted something dark, spiky and flat-headed scurrying across the road near Busby. Very small. Possibly a badger. Conclusion: Not much wow factor.
