Gordon Heavyfoot sat on the floor by a table, guzzling yet another Molson's Golden. He moved his hindquarters in a vain attempt to rise and visit the dumpster outside, but the movement only disturbed the large green pile of Molson bottles that lay in a heap around him into a chorus of sharp clinks, and Bob and Doug slipped out of their comfy nestle-spots on his large belly, clacking their heads together only to open their glassy eyes and mumble "take off" to each other. Gordon stuck his jumbo snout into the peanut bowl on the table, licking out the last of the salt and nut husks while the bowl described a semi-circle on the table top.

He had had no previous contact with humans, and was undecided as to the success of this particular encounter. He had been scratching his back on the corner of the Mudcat Hoser Tavern, when the back door had opened and a figure had stumbled uncertainly into the alley near him, and slowly unzipping its fly, had begun to piss on his left hind leg. He had unleashed an indignant roar which had caused the offender to first topple over, then rise to its feet in the manner of a beginning skier elevating itself on an icy 45% slope. The character (which later turned out to be Doug) had staggered in all four compass directions, and then sputtered "no harm meant, eh? Buy ya beer?" And then had draped his arm over Gordon's XXXL shoulder, and lead the bear into the bar, where surprisingly few of the patrons even took the meagerest notice of him.

This had been some 26 Molson Goldens ago. The bear had already been invited three times out on the dance floor, eaten every peanut in the joint, had a mis-aimed dart strike him in the ass (conjuring up grim childhood memories of a tagging by the Forest Service just south of Dawson), and been given the masonic handshake by a grizzled lumberjack with a heavy Quebecois accent. He had also apparently won $58 on an Expos game. Through an alcoholic haze, a thought gradually resolved itself into a strong inclination. Turning his heavy head until his enormous muzzle was against Bob's right ear he said "ham sandwich!"

"Eh?" said Bob.

"He said 'mowrrrf...rumph', Bob. I think he's ready for another round."