You know when you have one of those days with someone when you can imagine being married to them? But not one of those happy marriages, it may start out happy – you have a laugh, you’re on the same team, but then a couple of years later (or at about 10:30am) you realize that domestic chores would end your domestic bliss and your marriage would probably end in divorce, then murder and then a crime special on a crime network, titled “Mauled by Bear: Accident or Murder of Convenience?”

Brad and I started work at 6:30am, we were on an ill-fated mission to complete “Bears 1” – a journey that consists of 20,000 steps, feeding and cleaning enclosures for 17 bears, scrubbing a giant bear pool, and then doing the same for 11 nocturnal animals. 

At 7am he was acting like a reluctant husband who just didn’t want to pick up his underwear, but would do it if asked. 

By 10:30am, he just couldn’t “be arsed.”

He turned into a 1950s husband who expected his wife to do all the cleaning, and then when asked to help he gave a couple of “oh this is so annoying.”

I, turned into one of those wives that just demanded he help, out of principle, but not out of need. At one point, I sent him off to “sweep, something”

A couple of hours later, he had turned into the husband, who when his wife pointed out that things would maybe move quicker if he picked up a broom, he basically went back to remote, and kept yelling out “It’s 5:12.”, “It’s 5:17”, “5:18 now” – as though we were going to be late to a dinner at a Country Club. 

Then, around 5:20pm, we were almost done. We had just finished cleaning the Binturong’s enclosure – which for those of you who don’t know, is a “Bear Cat:” it looks like a bear and a raccoon had a baby. It has a massive tail, a giant fluffy body and a hiss that sounds like a snake you don’t want to cross. 

“Am I good to let him out?” I said, “Yes” came Brad’s reply…

And with that I pulled down on the gate and the Binturong lept with speed back into his enclosure, happily expecting to find food. 

Instead, he got Brad yelling, “Simone, the door’s open!” And me screaming as I realized that between me and a “Bear Cat” was nothing but air. Startled, the Binturong almost fell off his log, which unfortunately caused us to laugh as I furiously tried to close the outer cage door. 

Now, properly pissed off, especially since his food was not in its regular location, the Binturong circled back, towards us, and while we were now safe, we still had to lock the inside door. 

In true 1950s husband fashion, Brad stepped up, and John Wayned the situation – he chivalrously got back in the cage and closed the door. 

And then promptly told me that he would have left me there to die whilst “running” to get help, whilst also thinking about how he would tell my parents that I got mauled by a bear, a small bear – and then, like the thoughtful husband that he was, he took the time to think about what would have been on my tombstone:

“Mauled by Binturong *please Google species”

He could have left me there to get eaten, or at least bitten, in one of those “did they really try and take a selfie at the Grand Canyon, or were they pushed?” type incidents, but he didn’t – he was there when it counted, even though the incident made him miss his shower. #truefriendship. 

(This post was done on request, by Brad)