We were a family of seasoned campers. We knew to put away our food and cover our firewood and turn over our shoes should it rain. We could do this camping stuff in the dark—we weren’t even worried about the weak flashlight batteries. Who needs a flashlight?
In the wee hours we woke up to the growls.
They were angry territorial growls. The kind of growls that forced me to imagine I was safe in my sleeping bag beside my brave husband inside the polyester tent. This took all my imagining ability.
The growls finally subsided. I drifted back to sleep. Marty heard smacking…“like an animal eating plastic.” He didn’t wake me.
In the morning this is what was left of our watermelon…
…scooped out down to the rind.
