there's a knack to just to about any chore . . knowing the angles and obstacles is valuable to cutting the lawn . . developing a system to how you arrange dishes in the dishwasher to cram it as full as you can . . little things like that.

around my parts, there's a trick to taking out the trash too . . don't take it out until the morning of or the bears will feast on it. This rule doesn't apply in the winter. It doesn't go into affect until you wake up the first spring morning and see all the previous week's discarded wares scattered in your yard. as you curse the messy bastards, you realize the bear rule is in affect until late October.

I follow this rule diligiantly.
Nothing tempting. Nothing stinky.
Nothing at all goes in that can until D-Day.

there are of course occasions when the rule must be broken. a bbq gathering on Saturday left more trash that I was willing to store in the house . . shrimp tails and spoiled potato salad. SO in the can it went . . the can locked in the small shed.

Four days passed without incident.

Last night . . trash night.

going to bed, we hear a THUMP. hit the spots. There's Yogi busting open my shed . . flipping the can over . . and proceeding to sit in my yard to tear through the garbage.

flashlights . . yelling . . and constant banging on the deck did nothing to deter him. he barely gave us a glance as we stood watching thirty feet away.

i struggled to recall what he could possibly be eating . . remembered the shrimp tails.
-Mr. Bear you don't want to be eatin' that nasty ass fish!- I hollered.

Yogi ignored me.
I warned him that he'd come down with a bad tummy ache.

as if on cue . . the bear stumbled a little bit away on funky legs . . wobbling like a serious rumbling was moving through him . . an audible groan as I switched off the lights.

The moral of this story for me: never ignore you're own bear rules.
The moral of this story for my bear friends: my trash ain't gourmet, shit'll make you sick.