It was on a hot summer day in about 1987, I was single and living in a small duplex at the very end of Beechwood Road in Courtenay, BC.
From there on past the end of the street there was nothing but thick, dark woods until the train tracks a few hundred yards away.
About noon, I decided I was hungry, preheated my oven and cooked a small chicken pot pie for something to eat. Because of the heat, I opened the side door on the woods side of the building to get some circulation and try to keep things reasonably comfortable.
By the time the oven timer went off, my tummy was rumbling and I was anxious to eat. I pulled the pie out of the oven, placed it on a plate and headed for my dining room table, closing the door on my way by.
I sat down and no sooner dug my fork in when I heard a loud, frightening, reverberating banging. It seemed to echo from all around me and I was disoriented, not able to pinpoint where it was coming from at first. Then I looked at my side door to see the upper window, which was one foot square, completely blacked out by the face of a bear pressing against it as the bear threw his weight against the door trying to break in. My two dogs started to bark and growl at him, only increasing the din.
Once I was able to get my mind into some semblance of order and think straight, I picked up my telephone and dialed the RCMP. I couldn’t think who else to call when a bear was trying to break into my house?
The RCMP in turn contacted the wildlife branch and within ten minutes I could hear the sirens of police cars coming up my street and when I looked I could see wildlife branch vehicles pulling up right behind them.
The bear must have been scared off by the sirens because when I looked up again, it was gone.
I avoided that side entrance and went out my front door and across my lawn to meet up with everyone gathering in front of my house. The wildlife staff headed to the side of my house, examined the door and carport and within about ten minutes, returned to us.
I was so glad to hear that their measurements of the marks on my door indicated it was only a yearling cub – but then I started to worry that his mother might still be nearby? They assured me that he was probably on his own and that’s why he was trying to get into my kitchen – after easy pickings.
Still, considering that side door was about seven feet tall and the square window was about a foot from the top, the bear’s head had to be up to six feet above ground when standing on his hind legs to bang on my door. That’s if he was on the top stair of a three-stair stoop. On any other stair, he would have been even taller.
When I think about it, I had many interesting, frightening things happen to me while living in that house.
Maybe it was jinxed?