Quebec!

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I am going on a vacation with my brother and father. We haven’t been away together since a camping trip circa 1983. I was 7, my brother 10 and he was deathly afraid of bees. We were in a camp ground where we had spent the night in a tent my dad pitched. We walked to the common ground area to get some water and play “catch.” My Dad, lit a cigarette and began a conversation with some other Dad and his daughter while my brother and I threw the ball around and I see my brother’s eyes widen as I throw him the ball, he’s pointing and stuttering “Buh, Buh, Buh,” as the ball bounces off his chest. I say, “I’m not scared of bee’s,” and I turn around just in time for my brother to get out the word, “Bear.”
A brown bear walked through the common area, over the picnic table to where a garbage can was. Opened the top of the garbage can, looked over at us (my brother and I frozen. Out of my peripheral people running to and fro), and dug his head inside the bin so all you saw was the body of a bear with a garbage can for a head.
My Father also hit a baby cub with his van. The cub ran out into the road, my father didn’t see him coming. He did it right in front of the forest ranger. The ranger looked pissed but it was hardly my dad’s fault.

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