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After the new bear was on his way to the Betty Ford Clinic, I sought the help of my old standby, the trusty Smokey. He was my favorite bear, had been there for me since I myself was a wee little one. I was sure he could help me get the youngsters under control. After all, he'd been one himself, and knew how young bears thought, right? |
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Smokey had an idea. "If they want to drink, then let them. But males are always in competition. Make it a challege between them. One good thing about the male psyche is that men can walk away from just about anything being friends. They were once best friends, right? So bring 'em together over some booze and things'll go back to normal between them." And that's just what I did. The red bear and the grey bear faced off over a line of shots (bourbon, navy rum, vodka, and drambouie). They walked away on friendly terms, laughing and singing like in the old days, before the new bear came to town. My gut told me this wouldn't last, though, told me that come morning, both would be hung over and resentful of what had transpired the night before. |
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