Legend of Goat-Man Bridge

There is a certain bridge close to town that people call "Dead Dog Bridge" I don't even want to know why it's called that, but when I was in High School we called it "Goat-Man Bridge"
Going there to attempt scaring girls became a lame excuse for something to do besides driving around or sitting at the arcade. I wasn't the first to use the scary looking old bridge to park by and tell "Goat-Man" stories, but I enthusiastically joined the crowd and was able to come up with wildly fascinating tales of a creature that lived under the bridge that had the head of a man and the body of a goat.
Missing children, mutilated livestock, half eaten pets and the absence of any rabbits in the area were just a few of the story lines we used in our not-so-hair-rasing tales. It was great fun for quite some time, but like everything else, started to lose it's luster when we ran out of gullible girls willing to go with us. Apparently, word got around that we were pretty much full of bologna and it became a negative stigma if you were one of the lucky ones to have gone there because logic would dictate that this animal does not exist. So, my buddy decided to actually make him exist. That sounded like a great idea to me, but how?　
Though my buddy must remain anonymous, he lived outside town and actually had a goat available for his plan. He had bought an "old-man" mask for Halloween and the idea would be to put the mask on the goat and take it to the bridge and drive up with girls in the car and presto... Goat-Man lives!
As if we didn't have a tough enough time catching the goat, you should try duct tapping a rubber mask to a mean, upset, freshly captured goat. While it was still light out, we took the goat out by the bridge and tied it to a tree near an approach. The idea was to drive there in the dark, tell the girls a story, then pull into the approach as we turned around to leave. The headlights would expose Goat-Man and the girls would scream in fear. It was our best plan ever. How could anything possible go wrong?
First, it took until almost midnight to find two girls bored enough with life to go with us in my friends old regular-cab pickup. It seems some people thought our Goat-Man stories were boring and childish. I mean really, what's wrong with people? The girls were both Seniors and I was a Junior. They had no interest in us as a date, I'm sure. They just didn't have anything better to do, and that's pretty sad.
Four teens in the cab of an old pickup drove to the bridge and quickly became uncomfortable with each other. One of the girls suggested we go back to town because "This is lame guys" Good idea! He started the pickup and turned into the approach. The headlights shown brightly on the tree. NO GOAT
He was gone. The darn goat chewed through the rope and was likely miles away. My buddy's eyes were open wide and a look of horror was on his face. He had lost his dad's goat and we were now in big trouble.
All was quiet for several moments. The girls once again indicated that it was time to go. He slowly backed up and turned the truck toward town. Suddenly appearing in the headlights, was an old man's face bouncing up and down as it ran directly at the front of the vehicle. All four of us screamed simultaneously. His foot slipped off of the clutch and it killed the motor. They screamed again while he and I began to laugh as Goat-Man was now standing perfectly still, directly in front of the pickup appearing to stare in the cab.　I said, "Oh no, we're out of gas"　That provoked yet another scream for our amusement. It took several days to wipe the smile off my face. The girls were slightly less impressed. In fact, I'm quite sure they never spoke to either of us again.

Jeff and I Went Bear Hunting

Jeff and I went bear hunting...
North West Montana is a lovely place. Hunting, Fishing, Hiking, just about anything that can be done outdoors should be done somewhere near Browning, MT. Jeff who isn't a real hunting nut, won a trip for two to hunt the majestic Grizzly Bear in Montana from his employer, a notable fire-arms manufacturer that apparently decided he needed some excitement. His first logical choice for a partner was me of course! Likely due to the fact I told him he would be minus certain body parts if he chose anyone else.
All expenses were paid, except for a hunting Guide. We had to choose a guide and pay him ourselves. I don't personally believe in hunting guides (overload of testosterone, I suppose) but Jeff insisted, claiming something about safety, concerning the issue of hunting an animal that weighs as much as a car and has a tendency to attack humans and dismember them for no other reason than to amuse themselves.
At sundown the night before the hunt, we wondered into a pub. A pub, not a bar, as you know I don't believe in those sorts of places. It seemed as if all the good guides were already booked for the opener. So, we asked around and the bartender referred us to a man in the corner booth. As we approached, the man's countenance changed from a smile, to a look of, "Oh God, OUT OF STATE BEAR HUNTERS". Jeff introduced us to Rusty. Although he didn't seem much like a guide with one eye missing and the smell of cigarette smoke and chewing tobacco both overpowered by his extreme body odor. After some pleasantries, "Rusty the guide" said he had many years experience in guiding bear hunts. He gave us his word that he could get us really close to some grizzly bears. I asked him to define "really close", and he just grinned, exposing both teeth.
Jeff was busy on his scientific calculator, figuring the average running speed of a full-grown grizzly in comparison to the average speed of a city boy climbing a tree. Oddly enough his calculator actually had a setting for "really close," so it was easy to figure our chances of survival. Rusty was slightly amused by our lack of knowledge about, well, just about everything. He said to meet him at the 7-11 store at 4am the next morning. Once there, we were enjoying a moment of fresh mountain air when a certain odor, vaguely familiar to us, began to fill the air. Rusty was heading up the street in his old brown "Rusty Mobile". I was concerned that body odor of that magnitude would cause the bears to sense danger of a human nature and flee the area that we were hunting. Rusty assured us that his "Tactical Olfactory Bear Baiting System" or TOBBS as he called his own stench, would actually lure the bears to us by tricking them into thinking a dead animal or a new trash heap was near. Who was I to argue with years of experience and only one lost organ to bear witness to his success.
The drive up the mountain was short and without incident. We walked next to a stream until we came to a meadow area that looked like God had just finished working on it. At the edge of the trees, we could already see some bears pacing around like they were getting ready for the days maimings. It didn't take long for Rusty's TOBBS to work on them. I swear on my Winchester's life that the bears actually got into a football type huddle before they broke onto groups of two and three to start making a perimeter around us. "This here's the excitin' part", Rusty whispered. Exciting? Well, I guess so. Although hearing Jeff soil his pants, isn't exactly my idea of exciting.

One large sow and a single cub had broken formation and were heading directly at us. Not being experienced bear hunters, Jeff and I bailed out. We each found a tree to scurry up like frightened squirrels. This action left Rusty without a tree or gun of his own for defense. He didn't believe carrying a gun for defense while guiding bear hunts. Or, perhaps the state didn't believe he should own a gun period, is my guess. Anyhow, he bailed out also, but in a different way. He just fell to the ground like he was dead. The bears went right past him to Jeff's tree. Jeff's screaming and shrieking like a Four year old girl seemed to have an effect on the giant grizzly sow. I think she was amused. Then, she concentrated on me. She came to my tree and stood up. I had no idea how tall these animals were until I could see the bears' paws just inches from my boots. As my life flashed before my eyes, like it does every so often on my ill-planned adventures, I thought of my wife and kids and how they would get along without me. Then, I felt it. The bear had moved to the other side of the tree and stood on a log. She reached up far enough to get her paws on one my boots. I was too scared to move. Then, I felt the two paws gripping just above my ankle. The grip tightened, and the old grizzly sow started to pull. I braced for my impending demise. She pulled again and again, but lacked the leverage to dislodge me. I could not believe the bear continued to pull my leg for quite some time, just like I'm pulling yours.