Why is Bigfoot so sad?

Andy Heller

FLINT — They heard Bigfoot in the Upper Peninsula last week. His cry was described in one news account as mournful.

My question: Why would Bigfoot be sad? He totally seems to have the life. He gets to roam the woods all day. Dines on sushi. No one makes him get a haircut. Doesn’t wear shoes.

Given all that, you’d think he’d skip through the woods making happy sounds along the lines of “Tra-la, tra-la” or maybe Whoohoo!”

Personally, I like to think that Bigfoot is not only happy, but scornful of those who pursue him, as in, “I don’t have to be in the office Monday morning. You do. Suckerrrs!”

Anyway, members of the Bigfoot Field Research Organization who tromped the woods near Marquette last week seemed satisfied. They cited his recorded cry as proof that Bigfoot exists and, more to the point, that they didn’t waste the $300 per it cost them to go on the excursion.

“I’m not a believer,” the group’s president Matt Moneymaker told UPI. “I’m a knower. You’d have to be in total denial to say that none exist.”

Guess I’m in total denial. I don’t think he exists. Ditto for the Abominable Snowman, the Loch Ness Monster or the Easter Bunny. (My jury’s still out on fairies, though. I mean, someone keeps picking my socks up off the floor and putting them in the hamper, and it sure ain’t me.)

That said, do I think people like Moneymaker are ripping off their customers, as a newspaper article asked last week?

Heck no! For 300 bucks his clients get a weekend in the woods playing with cool A/V equipment, expecting to hear magic in every snap of a twig, pretending that every indentation in the mud is a fantastical creature’s big toe. What’d YOU do last weekend? More to the point: When’s the next one? Sign me up.

I don’t care if it’s folly. I like folly. To be honest, I’ll bet many of his pursuers don’t truly think Bigfoot exists. But they believe he does. Some small part of them, anyway. That’s all that counts. There’s a big difference between thinking and believing, don’t forget.

For instance, looking at the news, I don’t think there’s more love in the world than hate. But I believe that it’s so. I hope that it’s so. Same with Bigfoot. No, I don’t think he and his size 28s roam the U.P. any more than I believe leprechauns hide my car keys.

But I fervently hope he does and they do. (Note to the leprechauns, just in case: I’ll get you someday, my pretties. And your little dogs, too!)

I also hope that if Bigfoot’s out there that they never catch him, nor find any conclusive proof of his existence or lack thereof.

I prefer the mystery.

There’s not nearly enough of it in life.