"I do have a thing about bears…I'm just fascinated by 'em."

-John R. Gage, Sierra S1E5, 'The Urban Rangers'

John Gage considered himself fortunate that in all his years as a paramedic, he had never yet had reason to use the defibrillator on his partner. However, if Roy kept drinking coffee at this rate, all bets were off. He watched in mild alarm as Roy poured himself another cup and put a new pot on to brew. "Jeez, Roy, that's your fourth in the last hour! Everything all right?"

"Yeah," Roy said, and took a swig of coffee with the sort of desperation that signified everything was most certainly not all right. "Yeah. Just tired, is all."

"More than just tired!" Chet's voice echoed from where leaned inside the oven, scrubbing vigorously at whatever horror C-shift had left behind. "You look half-dead. Johnny, can you resuscitate him? Maybe give him some D5W or somethin'?" He reached out and waved his scouring pad in Roy's general direction. "And leave some coffee for the rest of us!"

Johnny raised his eyebrows and rinsed out his own, now-empty mug in the sink. "Busy days off?"

Johnny's days off had been relatively uneventful—a successful hike and a failed date, par for the course. He had managed to get all of his laundry done, for once, an achievement that only came around once in a blue moon. Never mind that he'd only done all of it because he'd misplaced his lucky shorts and was really hoping to wear them on the aforementioned date. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure that was why he'd struck out.

Roy stared down into his coffee, pensive. "New neighbors."

"That bad?"

Roy grabbed the coffeepot and topped up his mug before continuing. "We saw the moving truck on Sunday and everything was fine. Jo didn't get a chance to see 'em on Monday, because she was busy taking the kids up to her mother's. Then on Tuesday, I'm thinkin', okay, it's summer break, the kids are with Myrna for a week, now's my chance to get some rest, and then at five in the morning the lady next door starts mowing her lawn!"

A shout from Cap's office interrupted them. "Gage! Go get the mail!"

"Sure thing, Cap!" Johnny called, and headed for the mailbox, Roy (with coffee) in tow. "So, she's a little house-proud, so what? It'll wear off."

"That's not the problem. The problem was she kept on going until two in the afternoon! She only stopped to refill the gas tank. The yard's not that big; she must have gone over it ten times. I couldn't even hear myself think. And then on Wednesday, I figure, well, today's the day, I'll sleep in…and wouldn't you know it, she does it again! Until three this time! I would've gone and said something but by that point I was so annoyed I could've screamed, and that's no way to make a first impression. Maybe today I'll finally get some peace and quiet."

"Maybe she was just bored."

"Bored or not, lawn mowing isn't a hobby!"

Johnny shrugged. "Well, why don't you get Joanne to go talk to her?"

Roy gave him a sharp look over the rim of his coffee cup. "I prefer to fight my own battles, pally."

"Aw, Roy, I didn't mean it like that!" Johnny leaned against the mailbox and crossed his arms. "I'm serious! Women have this - this thing they do. It's like some kinda psychic force, like a hive mind or something. If you talk to her, it comes off as hostile, but if Joanne talks to her, she'll listen, 'cause she'll want to fit in. I bet Joanne can convince her to stop mowing her lawn so much, or at least do it when you're not home. Maybe get her to take up a better hobby, like photography or stamp collecting or somethin'. It's simple psychology. "

"Simple psychology."

"Sure! That's all there is to it. She'll come around. It worked on Angela's brother-in-law's niece, when she had that breakup and took up clog-dancing. Once Angela found her a new boyfriend, she wasn't around at all anymore, and I could finally get some sleep." A thought occurred to Johnny. "You know, you haven't mentioned if this new neighbor has anyone else living with her…"

"Down, boy!" said Roy. "Just bring the mail in, would you? And don't make me swat your nose with it." Unbothered, Johnny grabbed the mail, and started flipping through it. "Let's see…junk, junk, more junk…ooh, three-for-one chili dogs! Aw, man, today only…junk."

He browsed through the envelopes, catalogs, and myriad other flotsam as they headed back inside through the engine bay and toward the day room. Wordlessly, Roy reached ahead of him to hold the door open before Johnny could walk into it, his nose buried in a copy of Guinea Pig Fanciers' Quarterly addressed to the pet shop down the street. Henry stared droopily at them from the couch, as the bewhiskered visage of Smokey the Bear gazed benevolently down upon all and sundry from his place of honor on the bulletin board.

In the kitchen, Chet continued his scouring. "Anything good come today?"

"Nah," said Johnny, "Just a bunch of junk. There's a pretty good chili dog coupon but—"

The tones sounded, cutting him off. Chet jumped and smacked his head on the inside of the oven. "Ow!"

"Squad 51. Injured hiker, Topanga State Park—"

Johnny tossed the mail, junk and all, onto the kitchen table, and booked it out of there, with Roy (sans coffee) close on his heels. They climbed into the squad, pausing only to get the location sheet from Cap, and prepared to head for action, adventure, and the thrill of the unknown. Or possibly a guy who tripped over his own shoelace. At this point, it was anyone's guess.

"Wonder what happened," said Johnny, buckling on his helmet. For a certain value of 'buckling', anyway. "Kind of early in the day for an injured hiker." Usually the calls came later, when people ran out of water or hiked out farther than they could hike back in. Unless this was a snakebite. He shuddered.

"S'pose we'll find out soon enough," said Roy, and revved the engine, stifling a yawn.

Meanwhile, back at the station, Chet had grown weary of his oven-cleaning activities. He tossed the scouring pad down on the counter and straightened up. "'S as clean as it's gonna get," he declared. Really, it was.

Marco, sweeping the floor behind him, made a noncommittal noise.

There had to be some other cleaning around here that didn't involve scraping away at baked-on casserole leavings with his fingernails. He looked around, and caught sight of the pile on the kitchen table. Perfect!

"Leave it to Gage to leave a mess," he muttered, before picking up the mail. "Hmm. Junk, junk…who on Earth eats three chili dogs in one go? More junk…"

With a dramatic sigh to emphasize that this was just as much work as scrubbing the oven, thank you, he headed to the wastepaper bin, ready to dump it all, when a glossy, brightly-colored flyer caught his eye. "Wait a second! What have we here?"

Marco paused his sweeping, leaning on the broom. "Something good?"

"Check this out."

Marco took it from him and began to read. "K-9 Crunchies dog food is selecting its next spokesmodel and your pooch could be it! To enter, send a picture of your pup at his most dapper to Monsanto Advertising Relations, PO Box 635, St. Louis, Missouri. Top prize five hundred dollars and a trip to Fillmore City, Utah."

Chet nodded to himself, slowly. He knew a good idea when he had one, and this was a good idea. Yes, this could work. "Hey, Marco, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"That Fillmore City isn't exactly a vacation hotspot?"

"No, man! I'm thinking about five hundred dollars."

"Five hundred dollars would be nice, but where are we going to…" A yawn sounded from somewhere deep within the couch's leathery embrace, and Marco trailed off. "Oh."

Chet grinned. "You in?"

As it happened, it wasn't too early in the day for an injured hiker. In fact, it was rather late for this particular hiker, since he'd been up and drinking since the night before. On the plus side, he hadn't run out of water, since he hadn't brought any with him in the first place.

He was a young guy, maybe twenty-five, currently sprawled on the ground a ways away from the trail, bruised up and with one leg bent at a funny angle. Some other hikers had called it in, but hadn't bothered to leave anyone to stay with him. Johnny leaned in to examine him and wished he'd put on an air mask—this guy was the definition of plastered, and the fumes alone were practically enough to make him tipsy.

"Forget the leg!" the guy said, batting his hand away. "Didja get the bear?! I think it had rabies or something!"

Johnny paused, trying hard not to breathe through his nose. "What?"

"There was a bear, man! It attacked me! Stood right up on its hind legs and pow! That's how I got this!" He pointed to the massive shiner taking up approximately three-eighths of his face. "And then I was trying to get away from it and I stepped in a hole and that's how this happened."

Johnny did his best to keep the skepticism off his face, but he had a feeling he wasn't terribly successful. "A bear did that?"

"What'd I just say, man?"

He and Roy exchanged a long-suffering look, and Roy began setting up the biophone.

"Hey, I know what I saw! You don't forget something like that!"

Great, now he was getting agitated. Johnny put on his best Good Cop voice. "All right, all right, take it easy. Look, we gotta get you outta here, so let's get your leg wrapped up and we'll deal with the rest later, okay?"

The hiker gave them both a disgusted look, and then sighed. "Yeah, fine, whatever."

Aside from the busted leg, the black eye, and a blood alcohol level of YES, he was otherwise unharmed, so they made quick work of getting him ready to transport. As they were loading him into the ambulance, something caught Johnny's eye. Movement—or, so he thought. Something, just there at the edge of the trees…

Maybe he'd imagined it. He turned his head, looked again, and thought he could just see a brown shape lumbering away through the wilderness. A rather large brown shape lumbering away through the wilderness. "Hey, Roy?"

"What?"

Johnny pointed. "You see that?"

Roy looked where he was pointing, brow furrowed. "Huh."

Weird.

The crew of Engine 51 were having a much less eventful morning. In fact, one might have even used the Q-word to describe it, if one felt like tempting fate. Chet crouched, thumbs and forefingers held in a rectangle in front of him, and peered through his hands at Henry, trying to frame the perfect photograph. Marco sat on the couch, giving Henry's ears a leisurely scratch. Henry luxuriated, droopily.

Eventually Chet stood up, shaking his head. "It's no use."

"What?"

"He's too plain. A spokesmodel has to be attention-grabbing. Look at him." Henry had practically melted into the couch, becoming one with the cushions. "It's just not compelling."

"Aww, that's harsh, don't you think?" Marco frowned, and switched from scratching Henry's ears to rubbing his jowls. "Don't listen to him, Henry! You've got star power, yes you do!"

Henry gave a whuff and rolled over for belly rubs. Droopily.

Rampart was bustling when the paramedics arrived, but they had no trouble finding Dixie at the nurse's station. She nodded her head when she saw them coming. "Treatment two. Joe should be with you in a minute, he's just taking care of something in three."

To their surprise, however, it wasn't Dr. Early that joined them, but Dr. Morton, with Nurse Williams following close behind. "Early's a little tied up," he explained. "Kid got his foot stuck in a trombone. What've we got?"

"Injured hiker, probable tib-fib fracture-"

"And bear attack!"

At Morton's raised eyebrow, Johnny continued, "He, uh, also reports that a bear stood up on its hind legs and punched him in the face."

"I see." Morton pulled out a penlight and began checking the hiker's pupils. "How much have you had to drink today?"

"I don't gotta be sober to know what a bear looks like!"

"I didn't say you do, mister. Now, are you going to answer my question?"

He jerked his head away, glowering dramatically, and Morton turned to Carol with a sigh. "Let's get X-Ray in here."

"You need anything else from us, doc?" asked Johnny.

Morton waved a hand. "Nah, go on."

They bid their farewells and stepped out, ready to head back to the station.

"A bear." Johnny shook his head. "Darnedest thing I ever heard. So, Roy, this neighbor of yours — she's bored and single?"

Roy groaned.