Pamela and I lived with them all around our cabin for three years in upstate New York. Pamela saw her buddy, but I never saw one. Never. My rationale was that you don't see one unless it allows you too, or simply doesn't care that you do.
Well, I was returning from a book signing at Winter Haven, Florida with author Scott Marlowe. Pamela was tending bar at the Pig Pen in Hog Valley, so I was driving down Hog Valley Road, which passes through the Ocala National Forest. I was tired and pretty much on auto pilot. It was dark. I was driving through a desolate part of the road. On my left was what looked like taillights, bright red. But this area is as flat as a pancake, and these lights were high off the ground. I slowed down to see what it was as I passed. The red lights weren't red lights at all. It was eye shine, anywhere from eight to ten feet off the ground. As I slowly passed it, the eyes followed me. My high beams caught it. It was a Sasquatch. He was simply standing there watching me drive by. He didn't bolt. He didn't run. He didn't duck. He just stood there. My jaw dropped and my brain disconnected. I drove to the Pig Pen, my brain still disconnected. I sat in the car thinking. I'm not afraid of Sasquatch. Why didn't I stop, back up, and turn a bit to shine my headlights directly on it? I don't know why. It was like being in shock or something.
I looked for it on my drive home. Nothing.
So I lived with them all around in New York for three years. They ran around the cabin, knocked on the walls and windows, and hollered outside. I never saw one. But driving in Hog Valley, one just stood there. Nice as you please. Amazing.
Those of you who have been following this blog understand how bizarre life has been in the past few years. Go ahead, click on the search box and enter "Bigfoot" or "Sasquatch". You'll see.
I published my book "Living Among Sasquatch: A Primer" at the beginning of this year. After sending out free copies to libraries and such, and after flying to New York to speak at a conference, this month's royalty check from the publisher has put me in the black.
Yes. I'm a hundred-aire. Woo hoo!
My Sasquatch related novel is moving along well now. I'm at 114 pages, and over 31,000 words. Since I stopped thinking about what I was going to write and just let my fingers type, it is going much more smoothly.
I can't wait to sit down to write today, and to see what happens next because I have no idea.
Coincidently, this memory popped up on Facebook from three years ago...
had to shut the dogs up in the cabin. I can hear a buck scraping the velvet from his horns not far from the cabin. The dogs don't know what it is but they want to go find out.
This is pretty funny, because knowing now what I didn't know then, that was no buck. That would have been a Sasquatch. Most likely Pamela's big hairy friend. It would have been warning others that there was now humans living in the cabin.
Know what stinks? When your animals are smarter than you are.
Look, I've accepted the fact that all of my female dogs are smarter than me. Only Chevy, my male pitbull, is also as dumb as a bag of hammers.
The goats are here eating weeds. It has been a battle to keep them out of the garage where they love to go to eat cardboard, garbage, andplastic flowers.
I put up a fence, which works well, but I need a gate that the dogs can go in and out of, but that the goats can't. So first I made a swinging gate. Penelope the puppy escape artist figured out in seconds how to swing it open to come and go, shortly thereafter followed by our pointer, Olivia. Perfect. Goats are too stupid to figure out a swinging gate.
Wrong. Amos the Goat watched the dogs with great interest, and within a couple of days was coming and going. Great. Just great.
Plan B. Raise the gate up and fix it so it doesn't swing. The dogs can crawl under the gate, but the goats are too tall. Perfect.
Wrong. See photo. Our goats must do the limbo when we're not home.