Sally Breslin: My Life: DEJA VU - SHOULD I PREPARE FOR BATTLE?

Lately, every time I go into the laundry room I hear a faint buzzing sound. The problem is I haven’t been able to pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from. I’ve narrowed it down to everything from construction noises from the house being built down the road from me, to my tinnitus, which, depending on the day of the week, can sound like crickets, bells, fire-engine sirens, or a swarm of killer bees.

I can’t help thinking “deja vu,” back to many years ago when I also heard similar buzzing noises. My husband and I were living in a mobile home at the time and the rear end of it faced 10,000 acres of woods that contained a network of trails – everything from hiking trails and snowmobile trails to old logging trails. So we never knew who or what was going to wander into our yard.

Even worse, our bedroom also was located at the back of the mobile home.

My husband, who’d always been somewhat hard of hearing (especially whenever I asked him to do something), didn’t hear any buzzing. But I complained about it daily, especially when I was lying in bed and everything else was quiet, because it seemed much louder then.

Eventually he managed to convince me my ears just probably needed a good flushing.

Back then, my husband worked nights, from three o’clock until eleven, so when I came home at five o’clock each day, the only greeting I ever received was from Brandy, our Lhasa Apso. One afternoon when I pulled into the driveway at my usual time, I happened to spot something on the ground sticking out from behind the mobile home. At first, I thought it might be yet another lost hiker, and maybe this one had passed out from exhaustion...or, heaven forbid, had dropped dead.

When I walked out back to investigate, however, my mouth fell open. The aluminum siding on the back of the mobile home had been peeled open, like the top of a sardine-can, and a big piece of the siding had been torn off and was lying on the ground.

At the very top of the mobile home, almost near the roof, which was pretty high up because the home was on cinder blocks to level it out, were long claw marks and blood!

That did it, I called the police. I was certain Bigfoot had emerged from those woods and had tried to break into my bedroom.

A bored-looking officer arrived to assess the situation. He noticed the cable I’d set up between two distant trees at the edge of the woods, so my dog occasionally could run back and forth out there on nice days.

“You have a dog?” he asked. Before I could answer, he added, “Something must have scared the poor thing and it attacked your trailer, trying to get back inside.”

I wondered what kind of dog he thought I owned that could leave claw marks seven feet up and tear a mobile home wide open. A Tyrannosaurus terrier?

“I have a Lhasa Apso,” I said. “Unless he sprouted wings and developed super-human powers, I really doubt he could be responsible for this kind of damage. Not only that, he was inside while I was gone.”

“Well, I don’t think it was a case of attempted breaking and entering,” he said, “even though all these woods directly behind your place are a perfect access point for criminals. You really should put motion detector-floodlights back here. Anyway, I’m willing to bet an animal did this.”

Unless some guy had eight-inch-long fingernails that could tear through aluminum, like Freddy Krueger or Wolverine, I also was willing to bet an animal was the perpetrator.

“So what kind of animal do you think would suddenly attack the back of my house, and why?”

He shrugged. “I'm not sure. I think you should contact a wildlife expert.”

So I called Fish and Game, and they sent an officer over.

“Definitely a bear,” he said after studying the scene of the crime. “Those claw marks are a dead giveaway. And there also are tooth puncture-holes in the aluminum. The blood is from its mouth getting cut by the metal. I’d say it’s a decent-sized black bear.”

“And what does he have against my mobile home? Maybe it was blocking his view?”

The officer used his flashlight to look high up inside the torn wall.

“Just as I suspected,” he said. “You have a big honeycomb in there. It’s about half the size of the wall. He was after the honey and especially the bee larvae. That's a delicacy to them.”

“Wouldn’t the bear have been savagely attacked by a bunch of really ticked-off bees?”

“Yes, definitely, on the face and tongue – the fur’s too thick elsewhere – but bears really don’t care.”

“Suddenly I realized why I’d been hearing buzzing. It wasn’t a comforting thought to know that our bed’s headboard was against a wall that had hundreds of bees lurking directly on the other side, where they probably were formulating some sinister plan to attack us and protect their stash.

The neighbors helped us temporarily patch up the holes with plywood. Then I called both an insect-control specialist and my insurance agent.

“Is my home covered for damages caused by a bear attack?” I asked the agent.

“Not unless it was attacked by a ‘bare’ human,” he said, chuckling.

I wasn’t amused.

So between the bee specialist, who gave the bees their eviction notice, and the repairs to the wall and siding, we spent a lot of money we couldn’t afford to spend.

Which is why the buzzing I’ve been hearing lately in the laundry room has me feeling just a bit uneasy. I keep expecting a bear to come crashing through the wall while I’m standing near the dryer and folding towels.

On the other hand, if it does happen, it probably will be a good thing there’s a washer in that room…because I’ll definitely need it to wash the underwear I’m wearing at the time…like immediately.

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Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.