The Wooden Bear
“God Damn bridge,” Jerry Smith said as he pulled up to his house. His wife’s blue sedan was noticeably missing from the driveway. She was sure to be gone for hours, chatting with all her gossipy palls. Dinner would not be waiting for him today. Jerry sighed heavily and opened his car door. He heaved himself out of the car seat and lumbered to the front door, with its two long glass panes, passing by the small plants and flowers his wife kept outside, along with a carved wooden bear statue that sat directly next to the front door about 3 feet tall, including the stump base. The bear stood on its hind legs, its front paws aloft and mouth slightly ajar, the edges of its wooden lips tilted up, as if it were smiling. His wife often called it tacky, but Jerry felt that since the statue had been at the house when they purchased it so many years ago, it seemed wrong to remove it. Plus, it really matched the aesthetic of the surrounding woods, and the proud, large, log cabin that re