The demise of the Sasquatch

I really believe he is out there. What I find interesting is our never ceasing desire to know that he is out there. Like the dodo bird from the past, we have to club it, kill it and bring it in so we know it’s alive. There is a commercial for a brand of Beef Jerky where the theme of the spot is messing with Bigfoot. This is a perfect analogy of civilized man wanting to not only prove his existence, but to go ahead and impose our will upon him for our amusement. There are whales in the ocean 18 times the size of Bigfoot and we will never see them. Do we need to catch and kill them to know they are there? I see squirrels in a yard and think about why are we terrified of rats and yet cohabitate with squirrels without having to trap them or banish them? What is it about our nature that lets us live along side some species while others we doubt and fear?
I am a firm believer in Bigfoot. I belong to an organization called BFRO (Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization). Well, I used to belong. Honestly, I only bought a t-shirt from their website to wear on my independant field research. Basically a field researcher is anyone that can walk more than 10 feet, wear a comfortable pair of sneakers and contribute $350 to a hopeless endeavor. I’m not a cynic of the organization I belong to. I just disagree with the administration (much like the rest of this nation). Besides, if I had $350 to blow in the interest of furthering science, I'd spend it on advanced home brewing technologies or a car that runs on sea water.
Where ever Bigfoot is, I am sure that he has no problems believing in us and wants to stay as far away as possible. I shun the concept of an evil terror of a beast tearing apart tents in the wilderness and harassing campers and hikers. He’s probably pooping nervously under a fern somewhere far in the hills of British Columbia. That’s where he is, you know; British Columbia.
No I’m confident Bigfoot will someday choose to walk on down out of the woods. He will probably select one of the worse places to commence his first encounter with western civilization. It will, no doubt, be a Flying J truck stop or an outlet mall. He will probably meander behind a Bass ProShop just after some guy named Doug or Todd will have just bought a camo-colored 12 gauge and 3 boxes of shells. He’ll probably get caught in some embarrassing fashion so beneath his mythic status that he will instantly reduce his standing to that of a bear or rabid hound. Some Alaskan animal control officer will have a snare around his neck after catching him with a half-eaten burrito in a Jack in the Box dumpster. He’ll be on national TV with crumbs in his beard. We will hearken back to the less than anticlimactic capture of Sadaam Hussein in the hole. He’ll crap himself and curl up in a ball in the back of a truck next to stray pit bulls and a dead opossum. Sadly, this is the most probable demise for our mystic beast from the 70’s and 80’s. The beast that lumbered through our nightmares and led countless quasi,self proclaimed anthropologists on epic goose chase expeditions across the Sierra Nevada’s and Cascade ranges. The beast that ate DB Cooper. The gargantuan that battled Steve Austin in the “jump the shark" two-part episode of the Six Million Dollar Man.The indelible prototype to our beloved Chewbacca. It’s sad to picture the almost embarrassed and pathetic look on his face when they shove him in that truck. He’ll grunt and whimper like a darted bear. He’ll lick himself and look disoriented. There will be protests of course. They will be confused about what to do with him. After all the media quiets down, we will go about our lives in a one-less-unknown-menacing-mythical-creature-man-dominated-world. He will be donated to some farm that cares for wounded show pets and Russian circus bears. He’ll be lumped in with the bears even though he probably holds them in the same regard as we hold illegal aliens. He probably thinks they just eat the fish that he won’t eat but even still he doesn’t think they should be allowed to fish in the same river.
I hope I can go see him then. I hope I can get a ticket and travel to Alaska and visit Bigfoot before he passes away in a freak electric fence accident or strange dysentery brought on by canned bear food. I’ll look him in the face and tell him I believed. I believed just enough to leave well enough alone. He’ll growl at me and sit up on his rear haunches like a trained tiger. I’ll throw balled up sandwich bread at him. I'll move down one cage to see a cougar lying in the dirt next to a water dish. No mystery with the cougar. If you run into a cougar in the wild, your supposed to bang a stick against the tree and yell out "NO!".That will let him know who's boss.