What a dead bear taught me about true love....

About 1:30 in the morning on June 14 Brent shot his very 1st bear. 

He then had to drag it over hills and valleys to get it to the truck.  (Those are not red gloves he's wearing)... (And those are not snowflakes, they're flash lit mosquito's)

He comes into my room at about 3:30 in the morning and tells me he got a bear... then he disappears. 

Finally I got dressed and I went out to look for him, when he said he got a bear he meant he just barely got it!  It was almost 4:00 A.M., he had to be to work at 8:00 and he hadn't even skinned it yet. 

At first, I did everything I possibly could to help without getting dirty.

The thing that stunk was that I really don't like to touch raw meat, and I was really tired.  But I knew that Brent had less sleep than me, and he had to be to work at 8:00.

So what else could I do but get a knife and help him skin it?  Brent wanted to make a bear skin rug out of it. (ghastly I know but it's a big deal to him) at 7:55 we finally finished skinning it.  He put down his knife and said,

"You clean this up I'm going to go get into the shower and go to work."

When it got turned right side out is when I started to cry... poor bear (it looks a lot sadder when it's fur is on the outside.)

As horrifying as the whole experience was for me, I don't know if I've ever loved my husband more than when I was standing there in the pre-dawn, back aching, covered in yuckiness, working hard with him to try and make his "Alaska Dream" come true in time, so that he could get off to work.  I guess there's something to be said about the whole showing your love through service thing. 

I'm not thrilled about the bear skin rug that will probably be hanging in our bedroom soon.  But I sure do love my husband, and I imagine that's enough to help me deal with anything else.