So this week, I’m in Wynne, camped out in a hotel and covering a murder trial.
The first clue that something odd was occurring back home surfaced in an email from Moody Mom.
I had sent her a thank-you email for watching Tootie last night while Hubs worked late.
Moody Mom’s reply: You are welcome. She talked about Bigfoot and did research on where you can take her to find him.
Awhile ago, during my nightly phone call to Hubs, he blurted: “Did you know Tootie thinks that Bigfoot is in Van Buren and she wants us to take her camping there next weekend so that she can catch him?”
“What’s with this sudden fascination with Bigfoot?” I asked after telling him about Moody Mom’s email.
“I don’t know!” Hubs said. “She wants to take a group of her friends and set a trap in the woods. She’s absolutely convinced that they’ll be able to catch him?”
“Um. Dare I ask how she proposes to do this?”
“She wants to set out some food and drop a cage over him. Do you know that tonight she told me that she knows what Bigfoot’s poop looks like?”
More proof that when I leave town, strange things happen in my absence.
Of course, I may have mentioned, once upon a time, to the children that I have always believed there’s something lurking in the waters of Loch Ness.