Yeti

When the yeti stole my tuna sandwich, I knew it was going to be a long day.

I should've known better than to leave my Hummer unlocked, but, come on, when they have to put the phones on the map, you figure no one's around to steal your car stereo. So I was on one of those long treks through northern Ontario, checking on the winter health of a bunch of tree orchards. The last community that I'd visited had mentioned the recent boom in the yeti population, saying we were in for one of those lemming-off-a-cliff corrections soon, but in the meantime I should be on my guard.

Well, I figured they were just yanking my white-boy chain, putting a zinger on the non-native from the government. With two strikes like that against a guy, hell, I'd be zinging me too. So, yeah, I didn't lock my door, and I'd left the bread and the empty can of tuna in plain sight. A total invitation to have lunch on the government's dime.

The bugger did. The damned thing even left a nice dump by the driver's door, so that I had to practically leap over it to climb behind the wheel. At least it didn't mark my tires, because it takes forever to get the smell of piss off in the dead of winter.