The Not So Tiny Dancer

Every year for the next five or six years after that, around the first week of November, he would find me again. And it didn't matter where I was along that coast, he would wake me up with a big wallop on the side of the buggy. He loves to smell a coffee. You could tell he had that twinkle in his eye that, you know, he's almost as happy to see me as I was to see him. We'd visit each other for two or three weeks until the bay froze over and away he went to hunt. It got pretty intimate, like a scratching behind the ear and this and that. The size of a bear's behind tells if