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 ...a weekly
Ranch & Country Life column
The story last week of Klatterina emptying a clip from a handgun into a rattlesnake was a true one. Possibly Montana and the territory Out West tend to foster independent women because when I told Klatterina that I had written a tale about her and the snake, she said, "Humph, that's nothing. You should meet my aunt Jambalaya. She's a sure shot with all kinds of weapons, and she doesn't put up with any messing around from varmints, especially bears."
"Bears?" I said, sensing another possibly hair (or bear)-raising story. "What do you mean messing with bears? Does she live in bear country?"
"Yep, smack in the heart of. Animals-over-people hotshots, bureaucratic guys, and other nosy Parkers have tried to get her to sell out, but she owns acres of prime country with water, trees....why should she sell?"
"Why indeed," I responded, "but what about the bears? Are they a bother?"
"Well, one was, but he's not a problem anymore."
"Oh?" I said encouragingly.
"See aunt Jambalaya raises Angora goats," said Klatterina. "She sells the fleece to spinners, weavers, knitters and all the boutiques between here and the stairway to Heaven.
"I see," I said, though I didn't. "So, what's the bear thing?"
"Jambalaya doesn't like the durned critters in her corral. She keeps Baskerville around to act as guard dog and to ward off wolves and coyotes. Works pretty well, but then this bear showed up one day, only Jambalaya didn't know it was a bear."
"She didn't? Doesn't she see well?"
Klatterina favored me with a heavily disdainful look. "Jambalaya's got an eye sharp as an eagle's, but for about a week, the neighbor's big black mutt had been nosing around causing a ruckus with the goats in the corral, sending 'em into orbit. Every time, Baskerville sent Blackie packing, but he could never catch him."
"So on this particular morning," Klatterina continued, "when Jambalaya heard Baskerville raising cane, she figured the darned neighbor dog was back again. She grabbed a broom, scooped up a rifle and tromped to the corral intending to send that canine back to the neighbor's with his tail between his legs (the dog's, not the neighbor's)."
Klatterina paused, a far-away expression in her eyes.
"So, okay, then what happened," I demanded.
"My Aunt Jambalaya," murmured Klatterina, "she's a treasure, it's a privilege to know her!"
I clicked my fingers. "The bear, the bear," I wailed, feeling like that little guy on TV who announced planes coming to a magic island where all the people were not only beautiful, they never got a speck of dirt on them -- but I digress--
"The bear," I said again, "what's the rest of the story?"
"Well," said Klatterina, coming out of her fog, "when Jambalaya got to the corral, she spotted a black shape sort of hunkered down. She charged up and swatted it with the broom. Then the thing stood up. Turned out it was a huge bear. Baskerville rushed in and bit the bruin, but Aunt Jambalaya said the danged bear just knocked Baskerville tail over teakettle. That made her mad."
"Good grief," I said. "Didn't the bear go after your aunt?"
"Haw," said Klatterina delicately, "he didn't have time. Aunt Jambalaya brought her rifle up and pumped a .30-.30 bullet dead center between his eyes. Mr. Bruin crashed like he'd been hit with a wrecking ball. And you know what? Later it turned out that bear was the largest one bagged in the last thirty years. She's got the hide spread-eagled on her living room wall."
"That's my Aunt Jambalaya," said Klatterina, "I sure am proud to be related."
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