Quietly, I got my racket and tiptoed to the kitchen. I opened the door. What I saw took my breath away. There, bending over the kitchen counter, almost the size of a double-door wardrobe, was a furry brown bear. It was hovering over the big pot of honey that I had neglected to wipe clean when I last scooped from it to make my favourite honey and blueberry sandwich. For a moment, I was stunned. This was the first time I had ever seen a real-life bear. I knew that it would not be wise for me to feed the bear. Although I knew that bears were unlikely to attack humans unless they were provoked, I was not ready to go out and meet the bear. I thought quickly and decided to scare it off instead.
Running to my toy cupboard, I found my old horn. I grabbed it and ran to the kitchen. Silently, I opened the door till it was wode enough for my horn to poke through. Finally, I said a quick prayer, took a deep breath, and blew through the horn with all my might. The sudden blaring of the horn frightened the animal so much that it dropped its search for food and scuttled out though the back door.
Relieved, I sank to my knees. My parents hurried in and gathered me into their arms. They had seen the bear running off and were fearful that the worst had happened. They were both relieved that I was unharmed. That fateful night, my parents promised never to leave me alone again. Once bitten, twice shy.