I once worked at a small northern Wisconsin radio station in a resort area that had very little rental property that was available for less than $800-$5000 per week. I was making what can only be called really shitty money. Consequently, I had to lease a very modest mobile home.
My mother's from the south. SO: tattoos and trailer parks just smack of white trash in my family... renting a mobile home was something I did with a great deal of social trepidation. I know better now.
The fear I should have been experiencing was of a much "earthier" nature. My two cats, umbrella cockatoo and I were settling down for an evening in front of the tube in my long, narrow abode -- which had a tendency to rock slightly in a good, stiff breeze -- when I realized that the vibrations I was experiencing were not from any significant air currents. But they were connected to the additional sounds being generated at the front door. Now, mind you, the front door of a trailer is little more than two pieces of rectangular aluminum with a inch and a half (if you're lucky) Styrofoam core and some hinges and a door handle.
My first thought was that one of my neighbors had tied one on and had decided to visit the new girl in town -- whether she liked it or not. I am not proud to admit that my mother's opinions of trailer park residents had rubbed off on me. That and previous experiences based on single woman living in small towns alone. Really not kidding about this one. Sigh.
Turning off the television so I could better gauge the quality of the noises emanating from the entrance, I tip-toed to the window beside the door and twitched the curtain aside and peeked out of the gap to see a black bear the size of a riding lawnmower trying to peel the outer layer of aluminum off of my door. Needless to say, my neighbors could hear my furious frightened shrieks and porch lights went on all over the park. The bear -- thank goodness -- hightailed it into the woods from whence he or she had come.
Later, my next door neighbor, Shelly -- a lovely (had to be) bottle-blonde woman with four children and more pets than I have ever had, cumulatively -- told me to keep my bird's cage really clean and to refrain from giving the cats anything but dry food. Only when canoeing in the boundary waters of Minnesota and Canada have I ever had to be as careful with food. Then we strung it ten feet off of the ground between two trees.
"The bears can smell the animals and their food right through them cheap doors," she said. "Better to be safe than sorry."
I immediately began looking for a new job in a bigger city. While nature nourishes my soul, I want a big strong door between it and me when relaxing after work.
(Inspired to post from my old blahgh - by the Lovely and Talented Noisy Plume)