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You can call me Tom from Kentucky. Lots of folks in my small town know our place by

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the front yard nativity we put out every year under the big Elm Tree. My sighting of a big

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foot happened because of that nativity. We live at the last proper block on the east side

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of town before the lots start getting bigger and bigger and you find yourself in the real

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country. Beyond us is a large yard, then a ribbon of a creek, then a line of second-growth

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woods. On our side it's a line of small houses, mostly ranches and Cape Cods. Everyone

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on our end is a bit older. There are no kids or teenagers running about.

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The nativity is really my wife's thing. My job is to make sure it's something she stays

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proud of. We built the stable years ago from fence boards and a sheet of plywood with

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a slot cut at the peak so it sheds water. The figures are very old plastic. The kind

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you hose off every spring and repaint or touch up every couple of years. We wedge an extra

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straw bale behind the manger and there are two more straw bales stacked behind the stable

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to give it more balance. We stake and zip tie everything down. The figures, the manger,

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the stable, all of it. But I have learned through the years. Those straw bales add more stability

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and a fierce Kentucky winter wind than just zip ties alone. There's also two spotlights

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out there on sticks to give it that Christmas pageant glow. It was the week before Christmas

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about 9 p.m. The forecast had freezing rain moving in just around midnight and around

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here. That means your car doors and anything else that moves will be eye shut. I told my

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wife, "I'm going to go bring the wise men and the camel in so they don't blow and break."

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I was worried about them because the wise men and the camel are outside the stable itself.

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They catch all the wind, rain, snow and ice. They get no protection. And I worry because

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they're old. And they have little tiny cracks in the plastic that might expand if ice gets

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deep into them. And I was worried they would split apart.

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My wife said she'd finished loading the dishwasher and she'd meet me out there to help. Our dog,

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he's a 70 pound nut with more bark than bite, stood at the back door and wagged exactly

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once, like he wanted to go outside. Then he suddenly decided that he was urgently needed

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by the wood stove. That should have told me something.

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Everything outside already had a thin, silvery, crusty frost to it. It was the kind that you

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hear when your boots hit a tiny, crackle crunching sound. I stepped out the kitchen side door

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and down the one step to the car port that was attached to the side of the house. Other

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than the spotlights on the nativity, the night was a dark outside.

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I walked between the side of the house and my park truck coming to the front of the

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car port. From here I had a perfect view of the back side of the manger and the lit

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nativity pieces on the front lawn. I saw the manger and I stopped dead of my tracks. There

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was something dark behind the manger. It wasn't there just a couple minutes ago when I looked

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out the kitchen window over the sink as I was talking to my wife. That was right before

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I came out. My first instinct was to back up. We do have bear that come out of the Daniel

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Boone National Forest every now and then. It's not often, but it's enough you know to stay

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alert. And that was the first thought that I had. But that was thrown out as soon as my eyes

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took in what I was looking at. This wasn't some dark, shapeless blob. It had a shape and

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it wasn't shaped anything like a bear. There was a clear head, shoulders with arms and

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hands, and after a half second I made out legs that had the body down low like it was in

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a crouched or kneeling position. There were no ears sticking out from the head that I saw

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and no snout like a bear. And the size of everything I was seeing was more than just wrong.

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It didn't seem possible. I saw the mass of hands feeling and digging around through

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the straw bale. It was intent on doing whatever it was doing and it hadn't noticed me yet.

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I knew this wasn't some casual animal like a bear, but I wasn't convinced that it wasn't

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a person even if the size was impossible. I was thinking, hope in the world would come

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out on a night like this to fiddle around with some straw. I remember blinking my eyes,

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thinking I had to be seeing this wrong. There had to be two people out there. Maybe they

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were both wearing big coats. They were crouched down together. And somehow to me they looked

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like one big thing, not two individuals. I also wanted a little bit of a better look. I

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took one step forward, causing a small patch of ice that had crept under the edge of the

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carport to crackle and crunch. The crouched figure cocked its head toward me quickly. It

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wasn't a full turn, but it did hear me, no doubt. While the head cocked, the entire body

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began to rise up to a standing straight position. It was like watching someone with a marionette

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pull all the strings upward. It was a fluid motion as this creature rose to a standing position.

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And then I knew. It was something that I had heard people whisper about, joke about, and

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talk about. It was something I'd never given any real thought to. Bigfoot, a wood booger.

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Nothing else fit. It matched all the descriptions I've ever heard. I've spent my entire life

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in the southern Kentucky area. I thought I had seen everything that roams these parts.

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Well, I had seen enough to know this wasn't any of the other things I had ever seen. But

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I somehow knew what it was. I cannot stress enough the size of this bigfoot that stood before

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me. I built that stable, so I knew the dimensions, and this being dwarfed it. I put its hide at

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just over seven feet, and over three feet wide at the shoulders. It didn't block out all

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of the stable, but probably about 75 percent of it. And my stable's dimensions are roughly

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five feet wide, and just over six feet tall. I saw the slope of the head, the short hair

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looking thick on the skull. The pattern of it as it parted into a natural line down the

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middle of the domed skull, all of it highlighted by the ambient glow of the spotlights.

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The face was now turned, not just the head, but the shoulders and all of it. It was turned

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to face me. In the spotlight wash, I caught texture, hair shorter around the cheeks, a heavy,

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bony-looking brow that stuck out of the eyes. It knows it looked flatter across the bridge

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than ours, but had large round nostrils in it. I really wasn't in any doubt before of

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the thing that stood in front of me. But if I had been, this took care of that.

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Not meaning to, I muttered something to myself like, "Oh boy," or something. But it heard

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me. It didn't flinch, but it clearly heard me. It caught its head again, like it was

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listening closely. Didn't it did something to me that, well, all I can say seemed very

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human-like. It shifted a half-step to the left, using part of the stable wall and its shoulder

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to cut the glare from the spotlights so it could look at me without squinting. I know that

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sounds like I'm giving it too much credit, but I watched it lean that shoulder into the

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shadow, and it made total sense. It was like a fisherman, easing away from the reflection

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to see deeper into a pond or a lake. Then I did what my wife says I always do in an argument

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when I realized I'm not going to win this one. I retreated to the kitchen. I stepped backwards,

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retracing my steps along the house in the car-port, feeling my way in the darkness with my arms

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behind me as I moved. When I felt the kitchen door, I opened it without ever taking my eyes

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off the big foot that was still clearly visible in the lights out front. And I could see the

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big foot was watching me, too. The screen door gave its little spring squeak as I opened it.

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I backed inside to the kitchen and closed the door. I shut off the kitchen light. My wife,

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Laurel, who was standing at the dishwasher, let out a little help. She was still trying

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to load the dishwasher, and I made the kitchen dark. I quickly quieted her and went over

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and turned her head with my hands to look at the scene outside, which was lit up and

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clear to see from the window over the sink. She grew up here, too, but she's heard stories

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just like I had. We stood there for maybe two or three seconds and stunned silence. The

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big foot outside was watching us, and I had the idea that he could see us even with the

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light inside the kitchen turned out. The big foot out there took three steps, clear and measured.

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It came even with the front of the stable, and the spotlight took it full on for a second.

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That's when I saw detail that I will never forget. The hair on the forearms laid down

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in smooth lines. It wasn't mad at or dirty. The hands looked wide with the kind of thick

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fingers that come from hard use, and the chest didn't have a single hard body line to it,

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but it was square, dense, and solid. If you've ever seen an old man who spent his whole

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life throwing hay-bales around like they were five pound bags of flour, you've seen a

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chest like that before. Solid. Now people always ask me about the eyes. I don't know why,

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but the spotlight was low and it was off to the side, not straight on. So I didn't have

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a chance to see if I got any eye-shime reflection like people always ask me about. All I could see

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was a set of eyes that were set deep under that bony ridge of a brown. Strangely, my eye

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focused on a really weird detail. It's a straw that were clinging to pieces of hair on the

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arm and a few pieces that were stuffed to the leg. Straw is the rural equivalent of a craft

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room's glitter. It gets everywhere. Sticks to everything. You can clean it and clean it,

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and every time you think you've got it all cleaned up, well, you have to think again because

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there's more of it. It's a strange thing that I remember seeing, but I do. It continued

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that steady gaze for another second or two. Then it turned, leaned down and looked it up

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that straw bale with one hand. Then it looked right at us in the window again. And purposefully

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walked off. Big as you please, it just walked right off. Now let me tell you something about

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hay bails if you've never worked with them. They are heavy. Now they vary in weight. Now

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the ones I buy are averaging 55 to 60 pounds and they're baled with a thick plastic strap

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that will bite into your hands and fingers like razor blades if you aren't wearing thick

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gloves. And even the stongest guys I know that doosling those bails around like they're

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nothing, they use two hands to do it. But that big but just picked it up like it was picking

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up a bag of groceries and walked off. It wasn't in any hurry either. It crossed the lawn,

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crossed our drive. Then went down the side of our yard where there's that natural ditch that

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runs in a diagonal from the woods all the way down to the creek. Now before it got to the

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ditch it was lost in the darkness and I couldn't see it anymore. But I knew where it was going.

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There was nowhere else nearby it could possibly have taken refuge.

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Laurel and I looked at each other wide eyed in the semi-darkness of the kitchen. I recall

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we mumbled to each other some things like holy cow. Can you believe it? Was that a big

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foot? You saw it too, right? We were saying things like that. But here's the really funny

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thing. We were whispering. We were whispering in our own kitchen like we were afraid it

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was going to hear us. It's kind of funny but it's like we weren't supposed to speak out

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in the darkness or something. After a couple of minutes, sanity returned to us and we shut

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off the spotlights to the nativity from inside. I thought about going out there and at least

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sticking down a tarp over the wise men in their camel, but I didn't. I tried to sleep, but

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I had a very restless night. I confessed. I did get up a couple times and I went to the kitchen

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and I looked back out that window. It wasn't there, of course, and I told myself I was checking

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that the stable and the figurines were okay in the ice storm. But I knew that was a lie.

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Now it's true, the ice was coming down hard and the winds were blowing something terrible,

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but some plastic figures in the yard isn't really what got me out of my warm bed on a very

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cold night several times. The next morning, everything outside was sparkling like it had

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been dipped in glue and rolled in silver glitter. If you've never seen the aftermath of a

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true heavy ice storm, well, you're missing something beautiful. True enough, those storms

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are dangerous and deadly. But the next day, when the sun comes out, oh my goodness, it's

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breath-taking. Everything shines in shimmers. I had my coffee, then suited up and I went out

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to check for damage and to see if last night's visitor left any evidence. And he did. The

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tracks were perfect. From the back of the stable where the kneeling had occurred, outpass

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the drive and down into the ditch and then disappearing into the woods. You could follow

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every step clean as a bookline. The ice had formed sometime after the bigfoot left, so the

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depressions wore a thin glaze that made a low rim of light on each one when the sun hit

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them. Here and there, small bits of straw marked the trail along the way under the ice,

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like canceling Gretel had dropped their breadcrumbs. The kneeling marks behind the stable were

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very clear. The right knee had sunk into the lawn through the thin layer of frost and made

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a large rounded oval, longer than my open hand. Beside it, a towed foot angled under, like

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it had tucked that foot while it leaned in when it was feeling around in the straw. From

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there, the prints started. In the thin glaze of frost, you don't get toes like in wet

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creek sand, but you get pressure shapes. These ran long. The heel-bowl distinct. The four-part

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broad with a forward oval where toes would have been. I put a tape to the one in the shadow

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of the stable, and I got a flat 14 inches heeled to the furthest forward pressure line. Across

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the four-part, just over six inches. I measured the stride, 63 inches, then 64, then a longer

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one at 73 inches across the drive where the slope added momentum, like it had done a half

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jump. We did not follow those tracks. We saw what we could see as we stood near the stable

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in our front yard, and what we could see as we walked in the open area across the yard,

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but beyond the drainage ditch, under the leafless trees and into the thickness of the white

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pines, it was dark and unwelcoming. What we could see from there was good enough for us.

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Now what comes next is usually in the comments section about people that don't believe

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the charity suggestions that they give, that it was a neighbor in a kid's suit, some bear,

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or a trick of light. You go right on ahead and you tell me all the things you think it

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was other than a big foot. But I know my neighbors. I know bears, and we don't have them real

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heavy here. Even the ones we do get, black bears aren't all that big most of them. I know

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the difference between cloth and hair and in yard light. If somebody wants to dress in

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a hair suit and kneel in my lawn just to steal a straw bell, then fake some 16-inch

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prints across a frosty yard on a frigid night with a severe ice storm due to start at any

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minute. Well, all right then. I want to shake that man's hand, because he's one heck of

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a man to not only think of it, but to do it and pull it off flawlessly. And all of that

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for a bail of straw. Officially, we did not call anyone. Not because I'm worried or that

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we wouldn't be taken seriously. Actually, it was sort of the opposite. Maybe the officials

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might not take us very seriously. But I knew a few of my neighbors probably would. And

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the last thing I needed was Cliff from a few houses down, stalking around at night with a rifle,

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dead set on protecting baby Jesus. And he's the type that would, too. I did tell the

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neighbor right across the road from us, Sharon, because she has one of those ring cameras

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pointed right at her driveway. And it's right across from Mars. And I thought maybe we

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could get a silhouette moving across the yard or something. I know that her ring camera

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can see that far sometimes because sometimes she'll send us videos of deer standing in our

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front yard. I was really hoping. But when she pulled up her ring account, she said the internet

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went spotty exactly when the eye started. And her hub recorded nothing from 8.59 to 9.21

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pm. I suppose the bulk of my story is done, but there are three small postscripts that

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I want to add, and then I'll be done. First, my mother-in-law stopped by on Christmas Eve

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with some thudge wrapped in wax paper for us. She stood there in the front yard, looked

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at the nativity and she said, "Well, you sure didn't put out as much straw this year?" I shrugged

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and said, "Well, we did, but some of it disappeared during the storm." And I left it at that. She shook

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her head like well ain't that ashamed and let it go. Second, the other bail of straw disappeared

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one night, not too long after, but it wasn't a night that showed any tracks for us. There

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was no snow and the ground was just frozen solid. It was just a few days after Christmas

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that time, so we just packed the stable up early that year and called it quits. Third, the

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first week of January, a neighbor of mine stopped by and let us know that he'd be hunting those

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woods behind us. We don't own those woods, but he had permission from the guy who does own

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them, and he always stops by and let us know was a courtesy in case we hear gunshots or

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anything out there. But the next time I saw him, he asked me if I knew who had taken all my

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straw. I looked at him funny and I said, "No, I didn't. Why?" He just looked at me and said

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that he found a large scooped-out area behind and under some of those pines with a lot of

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straw. Looked like some animal had been bedding down in there. I had had suspicions all along

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that using the straw as nesting material had been the goal all along for the big foot. Why

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else take it? But that leaves another question to ponder. How did it know to go for the straw?

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I mean, I reckon it's learned at some point that straw is good insulation, and it doesn't

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hold moisture. And I guess it took that first veil and then came back for the second when

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it decided it needed more. To my knowledge, there hasn't been any more big-foot activity

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in this area. Now that doesn't mean that there's been some activity, and whoever witnessed

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it, if they did, are like me, and they're just not spreading the information all around

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town. But somehow I kind of think this big-foot was passing through, maybe got caught up in

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this storm and bedded down for a while and then moved on when it could. But how did it know

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the ice storm was coming that night? I mean, we knew, but the ice had not started right

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then, not yet. The dramatic temperature drop that would come overnight with deep wind

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chills that hadn't started yet either. Or would it have used the straw on any cold night?

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Makes me wonder. Well, that's my whole story. I will be watching my

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nativity carefully this year. I put some extra bales of straw out, and I put cameras on the

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nativity from three different angles. If I get anything, I will be pounding down your email

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box. If you do read this for Squatchmas, tell folks Mary Christmas from a Southern Kentucky

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boy and that the wise men made it back out this year on Thanksgiving weekend, and Baby

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Jesus is safe and sound out there, I promise. Mary Squatchmas to you all. Love, Tom, and

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Laurel.

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You've been listening to the "Buck Eye Bigfoot Podcast." Find more stories, hundreds

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more, over on our YouTube channel. Just look for "Buck Eye Bigfoot."

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