How bear-ish was it on the Lake Tahoe vacation? One greeted the family at their condo

I’m thrilled to report that I survived my recent vacation to Lake Tahoe. And by survived, I mean I did not get sideways with any bears. Now, that’s not to say I didn’t see any bears, because it was a bear palooza in the Sierra Nevada region.

This meant I was basically on the verge of a nervous collapse for seven straight days. I would like at this point in my story to share that I’m not a scaredy-cat — but I do have fears. Experiencing a bear in the wild makes my top three list of things that freak me out.

I’m not kidding or exaggerating in the least when I tell you that within five minutes of arriving at our lodging, we saw a bear. As in, the bear was staring in the back window of our condo. For a split second, I thought my husband was trying to mess with my mind when he shouted, “Look there’s a bear.”

But he knows I find practical jokes the byproduct of people who have a moron DNA embedded into their genetic code. So once I quickly realized my spouse wouldn’t try to scare me, I entered the OMG zone — as in screaming, “Oh my God.”

Apparently, there is a God because my outburst caused the bear (which I was later told was female) to slowly stroll away from the window but not before cocking her head in such a manner that I knew she was dissing me. I’m telling you, if this bear could have flipped her fur she would have.

As soon as I calmed down I noticed that posted right below the window was a handwritten sign that read: “Do not under any circumstances open this window.”

I shrieked OMG again and immediately began Googling, “Can bears open locked windows?” The answer is yes. I then did a Google search for flights to Kansas City.

My husband valiantly talked me off the “I’m leaving immediately” ledge and we then set out to buy supplies that would keep us safe. I, of course, wanted bear spray, but in an incident that I think would be grounds for divorce in any court in America, in the aisle of a sporting goods store, my husband told me we shouldn’t buy it “due to the cost.”

Yet again, I screamed, “Oh my God!” This outburst quickly sent a flannel-clad employee over, who agreed with my husband and told me “a whistle would be better.”

This led to me bellow, “A whistle, a freaking whistle, is going to protect me from a bear? You do realize I’m not talking about all the Smokey Bear cutouts on the trails here, but a real live bear?”

Mr. Flannel calmly explained that if you “toot a whistle” it lets the bears know you’re coming and they’ll “likely” run away. To me the key word here was “likely.” I’m not betting my life on “likely.”

In a turn of events that still leaves me stunned, we didn’t buy bear spray. We left the store with an air-horn and a whistle. I was feeling as if we might as well slather ourselves in honey and just go out in the woods and get it over with. It’s like we were asking to be devoured.

My husband (now and forevermore known as “No Bear Spray”), not realizing the depth of my fears, talked me into going on a walk/hike in a very well traveled area because in his “bear math” calculation, more people equals fewer bears because they don’t want to be around humans.

I can’t begin to tell you how woefully wrong his “bear math” turned out to be. To find out, tune in for part 2 of our bear adventure next week.

Reach Sherry Kuehl at snarkyinthesuburbs@gmail.com, on Facebook at Snarky in the Suburbs, on Twitter at @snarkynsuburbs on Instagram @snarky.in.the.suburbs, and snarkyinthesuburbs.com.