Bears and Dogs

As a kid we would often go camping. There were 6 of us and I'm surprised someone didn't kill someone in the family activity called camping. It seems we would always end up trying to pitch the tent in the dark. You would think that 6 people of at least average intelligence would have figured out that maybe we should wait and leave early the next morning so we wouldn't have to endure the 2 plus hours it took to get the tent up in the middle of the night.

The old tents were made of heavy canvas and the poles were huge aluminum rods. Then there were the 10 or 12 stakes that you had to nail into the ground to keep the tent from flying away. The tent was so heavy I doubt it would ever go anywhere. We always seemed to be missing a part. Then we'd fight and yell at each other about how the poles were supposed to be attached to the tent. It was an exhausting chore just getting the tent up. Camping was always traumatic, and I hated it.

This past week, my good friend Rick and his partner Dean invited me to attend one of their Boyz Weekend campouts. They invited about 45 guys to come to their beautiful lakeside retreat. I immediately got flashbacks to those awful camping experiences I had to endure as a kid. But I bit the bullet. I went to Target and bought a $39 tent and a $25 sleeping bag.

Tents now weigh about 12 ounces. The whole thing fits in a bag smaller than most womens purses. At first I thought I might have to buy the poles separately because I couldn't imagine how they could fit in such a small bag. But when I opened the bag, the poles were these little tiny rods about 9 inches long all folded up with a string inside attaching them all together.

When I got to the camp site, I opened everything up and acted hopeless and helpless. It's amazing how many guys will run to your rescue if you don't have a clue. Within minutes, yes minutes, my tent was up and ready for me to use.

We were camped on Rick's lawn on the shore of the lake. There were about 7 tents and a camper. The rest of the guys stayed inside Rick's house and also the neighbor's house. I'm thinking there were about 30 or so guys that actually showed up. Most of the guys I'd decribe as 'bears'.

In fact when I first got there one of these bears came up to me and asked if I was a pocket bear. I told him that I didn't know what that was. His friend said, no, he's too tall.
What?
It seems a pocket bear is a bear who is 5'6" or shorter. The guys talking to me were about 5'2". They asked how tall I was, I told them I thought I was about 5'7".
See that's too tall.
Let's measure him.
Measure what?
Your height.
So they measured and I am 5'7". So I don't get to be a pocketbear. Damn!

In addition to about 30 bears, there were at least a dozen dogs. About 4 big dogs that I call Labs, because I don't know any other brand of big dogs. About 5 little tiny dogs, from dauchunds, to poodles, and the rest were the plain label dogs. I'm not that fond of dogs, and they know it. Dogs are mans best friend, and if they know you don't like them they try extra hard to make you their friend. Which meant they were all over me. More than once I had to stop one of the little brand of dogs from peeing on my new tent.

Later that night sitting around the campfire, someone next to me says, I think our friend Raymond would be perfect for you. He works at a cruise line. OK, that would be perfect. It would be nice to have a boy friend who worked at a cruise line, or a hotel chain or a car rental place. With my flight benefits, we could have a lot of adventures.
"Don't you think Raymond would be a good match?" he asks.
No, it seems I'm about 30 to 50 lbs too skinny for Raymond. He likes the big boys.

It was a fun weekend, and I guess I'll try the camping thing again. And what a boost to my ego. I've never been told I was too tall or too thin. You gotta love the bears.

Until Next Time - Wise OUT