The Diary of Gordon Gulliford: Bear and Chain

Monday: Woke up this morning. The bear’s still here. So’s the chain for that matter. When I tried to get out of bed, the son-of-a-bitch mauled me. Pretty badly, I might add. My friend Todd drove me to the emergency room for stitches. The bear sat in the back and didn’t say a word.

Tuesday: Woke up this morning. Found myself by the river outside of town. Was wet and sutures had been torn open. Was also covered in pine needles. Bear was downstream trying to catch fish. Pajamas are completely soaked. Frustrated, I threw a rock at the son-of-a-bitch. Got mauled again. Forest rangers airlifted me out for more stitches. One of the more brilliant ones asked me if I knew I was chained to a bear.

Wednesday: Woke up this morning. Bear not in sight. Phone on the bedside table was ringing. Cautiously picked up the receiver: was the boss from work. Wanted to know if I was OK; I hadn’t been in for a couple of days. Eschewed making smartass remark about current situation. As I went to hang up the receiver, the son-of-a-bitch poked his head out from under the bed and bit me in the hand. Called Todd (with other hand) and asked for a ride to the hospital. I think he’s getting tired of me.

Thursday: Woke up this morning. In a cave. Probably somewhere in the mountains. Back is sore, pajamas are torn, cuts all over my body. The bear’s asleep next to me. Big lout’s probably going to be out until late-afternoon. And the son-of-a-bitch is snoring. Thought about calling my boss or maybe Todd, but didn’t have access to a phone. Laid down and tried to get back to sleep.

Friday: Woke up this morning. Got mauled. Son-of-a-bitch. Todd drove me to the hospital. The doctor said my insurance won’t cover much more of this. Got stitches. Driving back, Todd mentioned he and the guys were going out for drinks later. Invited me; said I could even bring the bear if I wanted to. Bastard.

Saturday: Woke up this morning. Found myself lying on bedroom floor. Head hurts, but am unsure if cause was last night’s drinking or early-morning bear mauling. Went to take a shower, but the bear was already in the bathroom. Son-of-a-bitch is probably going to clog the drain with all that fucking fur.

Sunday: Woke up this morning. The bear was sitting on the kitchen floor eating honey out of the squeeze bottle. Made and ate breakfast. Got dressed for church; the son-of-a-bitch kept looking at me in the mirror as I adjusted my tie. Drove to church. During the service, the bear mauled the pastor. I never liked his sermons. So I laughed. The bear bit me. Son-of-a-bitch.

© 2005

Originally appeared on OpiumMagazine.com (2005).

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