The cold winter wind growled through the stove top vent, reminding Jim of just how much he hated winter. Mumbling under his breath, he continued the task of washing his supper dishes while searching for a new topic to write about in his blog. Round and round his rag scrubbed the bowl. Round and round his mind scoured his brain for an idea. 

It was, in fact, one of the many reasons he hated winter. Normally when he found himself stuck on a writing subject, a simple walk outside in the great north woods would provide him with ample inspiration, except in the winter. Winters were the absolute worst. 

It was cold, Jim could never seem to stay warm enough in the winter. His fingers were always freezing every time he went outside, even through his gloves. It was snowy, Jim couldn’t stand snow either. It was always slipping into his shoes, wetting his socks, and tracking into the house. Worse yet, every other living thing was dead or asleep, at least until it got warm enough for things to function sanely again. It would be nice, he thought, to simply go to sleep until all of this cold and snow were gone again. 

He watched idly as a plow truck outside pushed the fresh snow out of the neighbor’s driveway. The dull grinding of blade on pavement served only to deepen his bad mood. Its yellow lights danced merrily in the dark almost mockingly. 

 “Dark,” Jim thought bitterly, “at four thirty in the evening.”  Winters were indeed the worst. Maybe the other animals had the right idea.  Sleep through the hellish icescape until the world was warm and green again. With a sigh, he rinsed and stacked his bowl next to his coffee cup in the drainer.  

He picked up the next dish and began the cycle all over again. Briefly, Jim entertained the notion of writing about how much he hated winter. Just as quickly he dismissed the thought. He had done so one other time and received an overwhelming amount of crap for his effort. It turned into a local controversy that got the whole town in an uproar. Even the neighbors joined in on that debacle. Jim wondered if other blog writers had ever dealt with protesters outside their own homes before. 

There are only so many times a person can hear the line, “if you don’t like winter that much then why do you live in northern Minnesota?” before they truly start thinking about leaving. Especially in the middle of winter. 

Jim looked up from his dishes. The yellow lights still flashed in an annoyingly merry fashion, the headlights beaming directly into his kitchen window. They hadn’t moved in some time. Grunting in derision, Jim slowly finished his chore. 

The headlights continued to shine through his window. Curiosity go the better of him. It was odd, he thought, for the plows to remain still that long, especially after a fresh snow. There was money to be made when the snow fell and a plow truck couldn’t make it by idling in a driveway. Slipping on his boots and hat he dashed outside to get a better view of the vehicle. There was no need for a jacket, he thought, he would only be out for a minute at the most. 

The wind immediately reminded him of why that was a bad idea. It bit through his sweater and caused him to exhale sharply. His fingers stuck to the doorknob as they were still slightly damp so he thrust them in his pocket as he dashed down his sidewalk and out across the street. 

It was immediately clear as he approached that something wasn’t right. Squinting past the glare of the headlights, the truck door was left open. Next to it, a man was laying sprawled out on the ground with a second person huddled above him. 

“What happened?”  Jim called out. “Is he okay?” 

Clearly he wasn’t okay, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say in the moment.  

“I think he slipped on the ice.”  Came the reply from the huddled shape. 

“Yeah?”  Jim stated as he squatted beside him. He noted that whoever was bundled under the fur coat must have been huge because even hunched down he dwarfed Jim's own frame. 

The driver was definitely out cold, but he could see no clear signs injury or damage. He tried to check for a pulse by feeling his neck, that’s what they did on TV. but couldn’t determine anything from it. Being this close however he did determine that the driver or perhaps his fellow attendee needed to shower. Someone smelled pretty gamy. 

“Well, I don’t know. Did you call an ambulance?” 

There was no response. 

Jim looked up in polite northern irritation. “Well did yoiiiii-yi-yi!!!” 

Not quite understanding what he was seeing, Jim wondered why he had just asked that bear whether it had called for an ambulance. Bears don’t have phones. Bears don’t talk. Did they?   

He jumped up and started to do a little jig across the icy driveway. It was intended to be a sprint but the ice made that impossible. 

“Beh-b-b-b-b- buh!”  Jim stuttered, his tongue tripping as wildly as his feet. 

The bear stood up. It was every bit as massive as he imagined, easily over seven, maybe even eight feet tall. It raised its massive front paws in front of itself as if attempting to de-escalate the suddenly tense situation. It was funny, Jim thought, how the paws looked amazingly like giant furry hands from this angle, opposable thumbs and all. 

At this point, his knees completely gave out and Jim landed on his rump hard. The stinging pain brought tears to his eyes. 

“Dude chill out!  He was like this when I found him!”  The bear said. 

Still in shock, Jim opened and closed his mouth several times before he could get anything to come out. “What?” 

“The guy,” The bear pointed back at the still unconscious plow driver laying in the driveway. “he was like this when I found him.” 

It was funny, Jim thought, he never realized bears could point with their paws. Even funnier, that it was trying to calm him down before it very clearly planned on eating him. That was, after all, what bears did right?  In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder why this bear wasn’t sleeping. 

As if reading his mind, the giant furry creature reached down and offered a hand up to Jim. “I’m not a bear.” 

“Yeah?”  Replied Jim unconvinced. He knew better than to take its hand. That’s how they got you. Pretending to be friendly and helpful, then swooping you into a massive bear hug to crush you before eating you. The term 'bear hug' made a lot more sense now. 

Realizing the panicked man wasn’t going to take his hand, he pulled it back and rubbed the back of his neck. “No man, if I were a bear, I’d be hibernating right now.” 

Jim couldn’t argue with the logic. Cautiously he stood and looked at the huge fur covered creature. 

“Okay.”  He started flatly. “Assuming I accept your assertion that you are not, in fact, a bear, then what exactly would you be?” 

“Well,” the creature stated, “Isn’t it obvious?”  He spread his arms wide and then slowly lifted one massive foot off the ground for inspection. 

Jim's lips pursed in what he imagined was concentration, but seemed more pained like severe constipation. He looked over the creatures’ enormous size, long arms and big feet and nodded his head knowingly as if the answer were obvious. 

“Nope. Sorry. Can’t say that I recognize you.” 

“C’mon man.” He retorted sounding slightly hurt. “I’m a Bigfoot… a Yeti?” 

Jim continued to nod sagely. “I’m sorry, a what now?” 

“A Sasquatch?” 

“Ah.”  Jim replied, “Interesting.” 

The creature lowered his arms and glowered at Jim,  “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh. Nothing. It’s, interesting, is all.” 

“Interesting, how?”  The yeti sighed heavily 

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I don’t believe in Sasquatchians, Sasquatchi, Sasquatches?  What’s the plural of Sasquatch?” 

“Sasquatches is fine.”  He said flatly. The two stared awkwardly at each other for a moment. 

Breaking the silence, Jim explained. “It’s just that I have read a lot of books and seen quite few TV shows claiming to search for Sasquatch and the only results are some half assed howls out in the woods that sound more like drunk rednecks to me than some monster.” 

“I prefer the term mythical being.”  The Yeti interrupted. 

“Sorry, mythical being, then.” 

“And yet,” the creature replied, “Here I am.” 

“Indeed.”  Jim responded skeptically. 

“The name's Tawny by the way,” The yeti again put out its massive hand. “You know, like the color?  Because of my fur?” 

“I see.”  Jim stated. Still in shock he took the yetis hand and was again surprised at how his own looked like a child's hand in comparison. “My name is Jim.” 

“Oh I know who you are.” Tawny replied enthusiastically. “I love your blog by the way.” 

“Oh yeah?  Thanks!”  Jim started to smile before he thought that through. “Wait, what?” 

“Yeah, your blog is great!  It really captures the essence of northern Minnesota, makes you feel like you are really right there out in nature you know?” 

“I’m, I’m not sure what to say about that.” Jim stammered 

“If you want my opinion though,” Tawny continued as if Jim hadn’t spoken, “You should seriously consider writing more pieces about Minnesota winters though.” 

“Really.”  Jim stated flatly irritated by the suggestion. 

“Seriously. You have a way with words, and in many ways Minnesota is even more beautiful in winter than the other seasons.” 

“How so?”  Jim asked wondering what could possibly be so great about a frozen wasteland. 

“Well for one thing,” the yeti continued, “It’s quiet, I mean really quiet. The lake ice sings to you if you are in the right place at the right time. For another the stars are unbelievable at night when you are away from the town lights. Oh, and it is a lot less peoply if you know what I mean?” Tawny winked conspiratorially at him 

Jim smiled and started to nod in appreciation before he caught himself and stopped. 

Behind them, the plow driver stirred with a moan. Tawny and Jim both turned to stare at the stricken man. Grabbing his head in pain the man asked, “What happened?” 

“You slipped on the ice and hit your head.”  Tawny and Jim said simultaneously. 

The man moaned again and opened his eyes. Slowly his head rolled to the side and he considered the two voices. Once groggy eyes opened wide in terror. The plow driver sat straight up in panic and smashed his head against the bottom of his truck door. He was rendered unconscious a second time. 

Jim and Tawny “oooohed” in shared sympathetic pain. 

“Wow,” Jim exclaimed. “I hope you called that ambulance.” 

“Ahem,” Tawny returned derisively, “Do you see anywhere that I can keep a cell phone?” 

“I see.” 

“What about yours?” 

Jim patted his pants emphatically. “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be needing it.” 

“I see.”  Tawny aped in return. 

“Well, I’d better…” Jim started before turning on his heel to consider Tawny. “Wait a minute, If you don’t have a cell phone, how is it exactly that you have read my blog before?” 

Tawny stared down at the little man behind inscrutable eyes. “Well,” he paused “How do you think I read your blog?” 

“Oh, I'm sure I wouldn't know.” Jim replied  

Tawny looked back at the plow truck and the house in front of it. Just inside the living room window a television flashed from one advertisement to the next. Tawny looked back at Jim. 

“Most of the time I just look in peoples windows.” 

Jim blinked twice. “I'm sorry what?” 

Tawny shrugged. “Well yeah. I just sort of peak in windows and see what people are up to. That's how I saw your blog. Once I started reading it, I was hooked.  

Jim opened and close his mouth several times in quick succession. “I'm sorry. Did you just say you peak in peoples houses?”  

Tawny nodded. “Yeah, it's not like I can just pop into the library or something.” 

Jim returned the nod. “And you don't have a problem with that?” 

Tawny narrowed his eyes. “A problem? with what?” 

Jim looked again at the unconscious man beneath the yellow flashing light of the plow truck. 

“Wait.”  he said suddenly putting the pieces together. “Is that what you were doing when this happened? Spying on someones home?  Did you cause this?” 

Tawny said nothing, but shook his head sadly, shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“Well?” Jim asked impatiently 

“Wow.” Tawny replied sadly. “I was really hoping that you weren't like most of the others.” 

“How's that?”  Jim returned. 

“Just like most of the other humans.” Tawny considered the small man with hurt eyes. “It's just that I thought maybe you were different from the way you wrote.” 

 “What? How should I be different?  And what has this got to do with, with, this!” Jim furrowed his brows and waved his arms in the direction of the plow-driver. 

“You're a speciest.” 

“What?  What do you mean?”  Jim replied defensively. 

“You compare us to the what you think is proper 'human' behavior.”  

“Uhhh,” Jim was at a loss for words. “say that again?”  

Tawny leaned down and looked directly in Jim's eyes. Humans treat animal like lesser lifeforms; say they don't feel pain, say they can't understand something, claim they aren't as smart as humans.  Then you turn around and judge them by how a human would react.  Can you say 'double standard' man?” 

“Well? Are they then?” Jim responded still feeling very defensive. 

“What, as smart as a human?”  Tawny stood up again and threw his arms up. “SEE?  There it is right there. Like you think that animals need to measure up to some human standard of intelligence and behavior?  They're animals. They do things according to their own needs. Do you measure up to their standard of intelligence?  Have you ever thought of that?” 

“Well, no. I mean clearly animals don't have human intelligence why would I measure my own intelligence to a dogs?” 

Tawny squatted next to Jim. “Why would you measure a dog's to yours?  Mostly you humans just think animals are stupid because you can't think like them.” 

“Well yeah?  Why would I?” suddenly feeling upset. 

“Exactly! Now you're getting it!” 

“What!?  What am I getting!?”  Jim shouted. 

Tawny stared at Jim for some time before responding. “It's really quite simple. A dog for example is not human right?” 

“Right.”   

“So it doesn't need the same things you would, right?” 

“Riiiight.” The man replied not sure where this was going. 

“In point of fact, some of the things human think they need would be detrimental to the dog right?”   

“Sure. I can agree with that.”  Jim nodded. 

“So, for the dog trying to be a human would be absurd, it needs are different. Its' understanding of the world is different, even its' interactions with other dogs is different right?” 

“Okay yes. I can see that but still I don't see how that makes any difference, intelligence is intelligence. We all just are at different levels”. 

“Really?” Tawny asked incredulously, “Tell me something Jim. Are you aware of the etiquette required around sniffing another dogs butt?” 

“Why would I even do that!” 

“If you even had a dog and it did that, you would say the same thing to it?” 

“Well yes!” Jim stammered, “because that is just gross!” 

“According to...” Tawny motion towards Jim and the plow driver. “humans?” 

Jim felt suddenly wary. “Well, Yes.” 

“Because you are a Speciest!!!”  Tawny replied in an exasperated tone. 

“I am not a Speciest!”  Jim through his hands in the air, exasperated.  “Some of my best friends are... are... species!!!” 

“Dude!  You don't even have a dog.” It replied sounding less than amused. 

“How do you know?” Jim's voice was tinged with hostility. 

Tawny point up at its own face. “The nose knows.” 

Yeah? Well. Hey, waitaminute!  Jim looked at tawny with suspicion. “Do you know the proper etiquette for sniffing a dogs butt?” 

Tawny smiled. A mouthful of giant yellowed teeth made the smile seem more predatory, like it had seen something tasty on the menu. 

“The nose knows.” the yeti repeated. 

“You were out there sniffing dogs butts?”  Jim couldn't get the image out of his head. 

“Yeah. That's it.” Tawny said, sounding defeated. It turned and began taking enormous strides down the street.  “I'm over it dude. Catch ya later.” 

Jim stood in the middle of the street trying to understand the conversation he just had. At  his feet, the plow-driver moaned and lifted his head again. 

“Excuse me sir, were you just arguing with a bear?”  The hapless man's voice wavered uncertainly. 

Jim sighed. “No it was a, it was a... He looked down at the driver and closed his mouth. “Let's focus on getting you to a hospital you are saying some crazy things. Why would I ever try to talk to a bear?” 

“ I dunno man but he seemed to think you were some kind of asshole. You're just lucky he didn't eat you.”  The man laid his head back down on the concrete. 

“I'm pretty sure it was a vegetarian” Jim said quietly as he knocked on the neighbors door. 

* 

It took another day before he could bring himself to sit in front of his computer and focus on writing. He sat in front of the blank screen tearing strips of printing paper up and rolling it up. Finally he began to write: 

I had a friend tell me quite recently that I was a speciest. They were pretty adamant in that assessment and our discussion became quite heated. I've since thought about nothing but the argument, and experience, we had on a particularly pleasant winter evening. 

To my friend, I would just like to say, if you are out there somewhere reading this from... afar. You were right and I'm sorry. To the rest of my readers, I would just like to take a moment to discuss what it means to be a speciest, and I do believe almost all of us are and we do not even realize it. 

I begin by asking you one single question: Are you aware of the etiquette surrounding dogs sniffing each others butts? 

For the second time since starting his blog Jim found himself in the center of a local controversy. 

Kirk Eckstine lives and works in rural northern Minnesota, but dreams frequently of a great many other places both beautiful and dark. He is an artist, photographer, filmmaker and writer, mildly insane but mostly harmless... mostly.