What would Wright find at the end of the lane? Tornadoes had struck. Would his home still be there?
Bigfoot believer Frank Lee Wright, March 2, 2012, drove the narrow lane leading to his rustic cabin, tucked under the skirts of three squat fir trees and one old cottonwood.
Tornadoes this day had swept through the county. Wright lived alone and so didn’t know if at the end of the lane he’d have a home or not. When he turned from the main road onto the lane, his mailbox was gone and the fence behind it for twenty feet, gone as well.
His thoughts now were that he probably didn’t have the comfortable cabin and old but newly roofed hay barn.
Bing, his mutt dog, recognizing the lane, moaned and whimpered with paws on the dash of the old ‘89 Chevy truck. Bing’s stub tail wagged crazily now. Wright tried to pick a burr from the tail, but gave up. The dog wouldn’t be still long enough and he had to stop the truck, a tree blocked the lane.
The tree was a young cottonwood, six inches in diameter, so he moved it easily to the muddy ditch and out of the way. Bing jumped the ditch and took after a brown hen that shouldn’t have been in the field, two miles from its coop.
“It isn’t looking good,” Wright said aloud to Bing, both now back in the truck, moving again. Bing barked her agreement as she jumped and quivered, paws mudding the rear window. The dog didn’t stop barking. Wright stopped the truck meaning to try and sooth his pet. “It’s okay, girl.” Wright was thinking the dog was picking up on his dread and apprehension.
Wright turned in his seat and reached for Bing. The dog moved to avoid being caught, still barking crazily. “Settle down, Bing. Come here, girl.” No use, she wasn’t going to be coddled. He turned the key, and slowly drove the last third of the lane to his home.
The dog continued to bark at unfamiliar cows along the road and one dirty white horse munching grass along the fence line. It wasn’t looking good, Wright thought again.
The truck’s tires crunched on the newly spread gravel along the tiny patch of brown grass that was the front yard. The cabin still stood as well as the barn. Bing flew off the seat of the truck. The spotted brown animal sprinted around the cabin, making for the chicken coop, Wright guessed. He guessed wrong!
He slammed the heavy truck door, stopped and stomped his boots hard before planning to step onto the short sidewalk leading to the front door.
“That dog!” he said to himself. “Bing come here!” he yelled. The dog barked nonstop now. Bang! came from where Bing still made a fuss. Uncommon, the animal never took on so.
Wright turned, heavy boots pounding toward the rear of the cabin. Bang! came again. Wright stopped, nearly toppling over, the stop so abrupt. There at the coop a bear was helping himself to the panicky chickens.
Again moving, he grabbed up a broken cottonwood branch meaning to chase off the bear with it. Bing still barked, bouncing in short bursts with all four paws off the ground at times.
“Get out of here! Bing get back!” Bang! the coop door slammed again. The animal, two chickens in its massive hands, growled at Bing and glanced unconcerned at Wright and the cottonwood branch. The animal had no reason to be concerned. Wright stood frozen, mouth hanging open, marveling at what he was seeing. He was looking at an animal that was not supposed to exist─a bigfoot.
The bigfoot bent, reaching for Bing. “Stop, get away!” Wright unfroze and in loud bursts at the top of his lungs, shouted, “Get away!” The little dog ran to her master.
This time she allowed herself to be picked up. Both man and dog, nonstop, each in his own way, loudly blasted warnings for the bigfoot to get from the yard.
Not that it made much difference. Not seeming concerned, the huge, hairy bigfoot slowly turned, still with the two chickens, now under one arm, and scooped up the twelve-foot-long pig trough as he rounded the coop out of their sight.
Sitting now on the front porch of the still standing cabin, Wright held Bing. His eyes swept the yard and barn. He was thankful the tornadoes hadn’t done damage to his property, and also thankful in an odd sort of way to have finally seen a bigfoot.
"Strange times, wouldn’t you say, Bing?” Bing barked and smiled in dog manner.