Hairy and Scary

My father’s deep voice washes over me, “Big. Strong. Lethal. Those are the three primary traits that make up our kind.”

I think to myself, “Well, one out of three is not too shabby. I fit the ‘big’ description to a tee, it’s just the strong and lethal I don’t quite measure up in.”

“Are you even paying attention, Squatchibald,” my father snaps.

“Yes, father,” I reply sheepishly, but I can tell by the look he gives me he knows that there is no truth in what I said.

My father is the head of our sasquatch clan in the Coast Mountains of western British Columbia. He has led us for many years, since our previous leader was killed in the wars with the wendigo tribes that were raiding our lands. My father’s name, Sasvicore, became synonymous with courage among our people. A mantle I was not destined to carry on my hairy shoulders.

I had been too young at the time to join in the fighting, which is probably a good thing because I seem to have an ailment according to the other sasquatch youth. I call it refinement, I don’t believe in violence, but they call it cowardice. I can’t help that I am frightened by squirrels, you can’t honestly believe the woodland propaganda that they are sweet little creatures. I know, but have no proof, that those little suckers are like the woodland version of the piranha I heard about that reside in the Amazon. I bet they can strip a moose carcass to the bone in seconds.

Besides my timidity with the creatures of the woods, I have a great fear of the interlopers called humans who sometimes backpack through and camp in our territory. Once I was forced to go along on a scare run with the other sasquatch juveniles, I would describe Stevsquatch and Squatroi more as delinquents, and also, by forced I mean I was told to go or they would tie me up and drop me off at the nearest squirrel nest of horror. My fear of squirrels was known far and wide in the tribe, much to my father’s shame.

The duo had found a campsite that three backpackers had set up for the night and they wanted to send them into a hilarious head long flight into the night. Stevsquatch was going to hide along the ridgeline above the campsite and begin to make grunting noises. Once that started, Squatroi would shake the bushes just outside the human camp. When those two had gotten the people's attention I was to streak through the camp coming in from the other direction.

Of course, I was wholeheartedly against the idea of being the one to enter the camp. I tried to hit them with every excuse I could- I had pulled my hammy on the walk there, seasonal allergies had my eyes watering too much, my horoscope said to avoid humans that day, but they would hear none of it. I finally went with the truth, I was too much of a scaredy squatch to do it.

Unfortunately for me, Stevsquatch and Squatroi thought I might try this and had come prepared. Stevsquatch pointed behind me, I slowly turned in fear and there resting a low hanging branch was the most vile, the most wretched looking creature sitting staring directly at me. I wasn’t fooled by those innocent looking squirrel eyes, I knew hiding behind them was murderous intent. He might as well have been holding a knife and forking and thanking Jesus for the meal.

My options being squirrel food or dialing up a modicum of courage to pull this off I chose the less scary path and prepared to charge through the camp. We all moved into position. Moments later, Stevsquatch began a deep guttural calling that scared even me before I realized who it was. Squatroi immediately began to shake the brush that was behind the campers' tents. The humans stumbled out, terror-induced thoughts shaking them to the core.

They whispered among themselves trying to formulate a plan. Now it was showtime for me, I charged madly into camp as the coup de grace for the scare sessions. With a full head of steam I careened into the clearing in front of the tents, baring my teeth at the campers and flailing my arms. The three men turned and just as I knew the fear was about to take them, I froze up. Later, after Squatroi finally stopped laughing he told me what had happened.

Upon seeing humans up close and personal I fainted while in my full run and tripped over one of the campers backpack and crashed headlong into a tent. The fabric collapsed around me and encapsulated my prone form. The campers, at this point, did not react in the way we had planned and chose courage over cowardice. They proceeded to pick up rocks and pelt me mercilessly. I regained consciousness during the assault and stumbled to my feet still wrapped up in the tent and bolted away from the camp.

In my flight, Stevsquatch said that I must have bounced off a hundred trees before sliding headlong down a hill into the creek. The two said they couldn’t even be mad at me because I had provided such a great alternative fun experience. When we made it back home they both agreed we would have to do it again.

At that moment I knew I didn’t have what it took to be a sasquatch in the wild. There were too many dangers out here. Once I was old enough to set off on my own I planned to head to a nice sounding forest south of here. I would go to this place called Hollywood and change my name to something like Harry and look for work.