It's A Bear

Girls' camp is an interesting week. I mean, I am a girl so you'd think it would be the most fun week of my summer, HOWEVER, because I'm a girl I know how they (ehem, WE) are. Excited, loud (the high pitched kind of loud that only dogs can hear) and, apparently, a little jumpy.

Last year during Girls' camp I was walking through the parking lot around 10 o'clock at night. All of the 4th-8th grade girls who were with us that week were supposed to be (supposedly) in their cabins getting ready for bed. As I approached our main office, however, I heard a bloodcurdling scream. Now, there's a difference between an "I just got startled by my best friend jumping out from behind the door" scream, and an "I'm about to be murdered" scream; this was the second one. My heart leapt into my throat and I took off across the parking lot.

I arrived at the scene to find two 6th grade girls lying on the ground, sobbing and hugging each other, breathing only in-between terrified gasps of "we just saw a bear!" I don't do bears. I'll handle cranky campers, upset parents, staff shenanigans, leaprosy, bubonic plague, you name it, before I will deal with a real, live bear (I used to have dreams that bears would be chasing me and just as I hid behind a closed door for safety, thinking to myself "bears can't turn doorknobs, I'm sure I'll be fine" the knob next to my head would turn and I'd wake up in a cold sweat).

I'm pretty sure I was about to have a stroke as I was reaching for my radio to call for back-up when just then the camp director's dog trotted by the scene. Suddenly the girls stopped weeping and wailing, looked up in surprise - "it's just a dog!" -and dissolved into giggles. I sent the girls on their way, dropping to the ground once they were out of site so I could give my heart a chance to start beating again. At age 28 I have a significantly slower turn-around from terror than 10 year olds do.