"Come on, John."

She seemed to want to help, but I wasn't being very helpful myself. She said, "So, you're camping out. Right?"

"Right."

"So, do you have winter gear?"

"What's that?"

She laughed. "It gets cold out there at night, John. This isn't New York City."

"Right. That's why I bought these wool socks."

She thought that was funny, then said, "Well, you need winter camping gear."

"I really don't have a lot of cash, and my ex-wife stole my credit card."

"You got a rifle, at least?"

"Nope."

"Well, you need to watch out for the bears. They're unpredictable this time of year."

"So am I."

"And don't think you're safe with those peashooters you got. Last guy I knew who tried to drop a bear with a pistol is now a rug in a bear den."

"Right. Funny."

"Yeah. Not funny. Well, if a bear comes around your camp, looking for food, you have to bang pots and pans-"

"I don't have pots and pans. That's why I need stun grenades."

"No. You know what you need?"

"No, what?"

"You need a compressed gas horn."

She took a tin canister off the shelf, and I asked her, "Is that a can of chili?"

"No-"

"Compressed gas. You know?"

"John-jeez. No, this is like ... an air horn." She explained, "This usually scares them off, and you can also use it to signal you're in trouble. Two longs and a short. Okay? Only six bucks."

"Yeah?"

"And this ..." She took a box off the shelf and said, "This is a BearBanger kit."

"Huh?"

"This is like a signal flare launcher with cartridges. Okay? See, here, it says the flare fires one hundred thirty feet high and can be seen nine miles away during the day, and eighteen miles at night."

"Right ..." A little flare went off in my head, and I said, "Yeah ... that could do it."

"Right. Okay, when you fire this cartridge, it puts out a one-hundred-fifteen-decibel report. That'll scare the you-know-what out of the bear."

"Right. So the bear will make doo-doo in the woods."

She chuckled. "Yeah. Here." She handed me the box, and I opened it. It seemed to consist of a launcher, not much bigger than a penlight and similar in appearance, plus six BearBanger flares, the size of AA batteries. This little thing packed a wallop.

Leslie said, "You just put the cartridge in here, then push the pen-like button, and the flare fires. Okay? But try not to point it at your face." She laughed.

Actually, it wasn't my face that it was going to be pointed at if and when I needed to fire this thing.

She continued, "And don't point it at the bear. Okay? You could hurt the bear or start a forest fire. You don't want to do that."

"No?"

"No. Okay, you'll get a bright light, equal to ... what's this say? About fifteen thousand candlepower." She smiled. "If I see it, or hear it, I'll come looking for you." She added, "This is thirty bucks. Okay?"

"Okay."

"So, take the air horn and take the BearBanger. Right?"

"Right ... actually, I'll take two BearBangers."

"You got company?"

"No, but this would make a nice birthday gift for my five-year-old nephew."

"No, John. No. This is not a toy. This is a big flash bang for adults only. In fact, you need to sign an ATF form to buy this."

"Adult-in-training form?"

"No. Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms."

"Really?" I took another BearBanger kit, and as we walked to the checkout counter, I silently thanked the fucking bears for helping me solve a problem.

Leslie gave me a form from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, in which I stated that I hereby certified that the BearBangers were to be used for legitimate wildlife pest control purposes only.

Well, that was very close to my intended use, so I signed the form.

There was a box of energy bars on the counter, and I took one for Kate. I would have taken two, but I wanted to keep her hungry for dinner.

Leslie asked me, "Is that it?"