In August, we were visited by a bear three nights in a row. It sniffed at the electric netting surrounding the chicken coop. It crushed an empty trash can and tore open a bag of sheep mineral. And on the third night, it removed the lid off another trash can and pawed a few cedar shingles off the side of the sheep barn. The grain is in there. I’m sure it could smell it.
My alarm went off at five am and I dozed for a few minutes – in that stupor I dreamed I went out and the Chickshaw door was ripped open and Roo was standing in the doorway. I woke right up. Looked out the bedroom window. No damage to the shaw, just some pent up cheeps waiting to come out and karate chop each other and take dust baths.
Kay came home with Pine-Sol. I guess bears hate Pine-Sol. It’s funny to imagine bears hating the smell of pine, but once you smell Pine-Sol, you’ll hate it too.
I got some on my hands after wiping it on the top of the trash can and dabbing the barn door. I tell you what, if bears are vampires, this is their garlic.
I spent ten minutes scrubbing my hands with soap. I hate chemical smells. But the Pine-Sol seems to do the trick. We haven’t had a bear by the coop since.