Home on the Range
The sliding glass door in my parents’ room began to rattle, bowing and flexing inward toward their bed. Champ, their elderly Australian Shepard and lover of all animals, let out an uncharacteristic growl that turned into a whimper as the window above her continued to bend and shake. My dad awoke and sleepily clicked on the porch light, which exposed the silhouette of an enormous standing bear, his face and paws pressed up against the window, which was putting forth a valiant effort of defending the house from outside invaders.
Windows and doors, however, only succeed when they’re closed, and it was at that moment that my parents looked at each other, wide-eyed, remembering they had left every window in the living room open to help cool down the house on this warm summer evening. Racing into the hallway and past my bedroom, where I slept peacefully and oblivious to the drama, they began hurriedly shutting the windows before the furry prowler realized what opportunities awaited him on the other side of the house. On the last window, the crank handle snapped off entirely, sending my dad on a frantic hunt for a screwdriver. Finally, just as he successfully forced the window shut, my mom tapped on his shoulder and whispered for him to
