The Word from Mount 7

The other day I came home to bears in my outhouse! The saga began last Fall when a black bear ripped open the clean out hatch to one of the bins on the composting toilet. It cleaned out the bin, thanks buddy, saves me a shiity job later on. Hey, you want a beer for that? Then it climbed up, pushed the seat off of the toilet, and continued up into the outhouse. After a little finger painting, the bear somehow figured out how to open the door, a simple latch style door knob, and he walked out.

Olivia and I came home and there was sign that the bear had been back. I guess he had been dreaming about the pile under the little house all winter. We rectified the mess and that evening, two bears were sniffing around the outhouse. One was slightly cinnamon and scruffy looking, the newcomer, and the other was the perp from last fall, a nice black, sleek bear. I threw rocks at them and chased them down the road. I need a slingshot to give them a whank in the butt. They came back in the evening. They got away with it. However, I caught them at it again in the morning. I didn’t know our pile smelled so good. I had to chase them down the road again. I went into town and bought door knobs to replace the latches, outhouse and house, and a latch bolt to lock the outhouse. I’m expecting them to be opening the door to the house next. They haven’t been back and we have a composting moretoreum on for the moment. Good luck bears, don’t get into too much trouble.