My grandparents on my mother's side lived on a farm bordering the North side of Riding Mountain National Park south of Dauphin, Manitoba. I have many good memories of that farm. Black Bears were common and from my earliest childhood, I remember my grandma's instructions that if I ran into a bear, never run from it. Just stay calm and walk back to the house. Grandma shot her bear before I was born, so my mother provided me with the story behind the event.
One afternoon, my grandmother was working in the kitchen, when she heard some noises coming out of the back porch adjoining the kitchen. She took a look and found herself pretty much face to face with a Black Bear rummaging around inside the back porch. Grandpa's rifle, an old 303 Lee-something or another (not an Enfield) made in 1901 was, unfortunately, in the back porch with the bear. Grandma closed the door between the kitchen and the back porch and waited for the bear to walk back out the door. As soon as it did, Grandma slipped quickly into the back porch and grabbed the rifle. I was always told it was loaded when I was a little kid, so I wouldn't touch it with a 10 foot pole. Whether it actually was or not, I do not know, but it sat in the back porch next to a 5 gallon pail that had a toilet seat on it. The women and children could use that instead of walking outside to the outdoor biffy at the edge of the bush. I recall as a pre-schooler that I would always try to get my business on that 5 gallon pail done as soon as possible in case the old rifle leaning on the wall right beside me, went off while I was sitting on the can. Anyway, Grandma grabbed the rifle and was so nervous she shot right through the screened window in the porch rather than step a few feet sideways to the door. The bear ran a few yards into the bush and expired. Grandma stayed in the house the rest of the afternoon in case the bear was only wounded, but when grandpa came home at the end of the day, the bear was clearly departed for the great honey repository in the sky. My mother tells me that Grandpa was not happy with Grandma for blasting a hole through the screen.
Many years later, after my grandparents had sold the farm and moved into town, my grandpa gave me that rifle when I was 15 years old. I have since passed it on to one of my sons.
