I made it fairy clear that I’m not an outdoorsman, and the past few days as I’ve been writing, survival shows on the Discovery Channel have provided some background entertainment. Sometimes, I like it to be quiet when I write, but some days the background babble can be comforting. Especially, when you’re not the one out there in wilds of Alaska worrying about grizzles or in a tropical jungle battling bugs, snakes, and alligators. Watching it on T.V. is safe, and prepares you with survival skills should the need arise.

My fear of the outdoors stems from my childhood and a black panther seen roaming in our neighborhood, after allegedly escaping from the zoo. I would have reoccurring nightmares about glowing cat eye’s peering over the top of my blinds, and somehow feared being kidnapped by the animal and taken captive to a deserted island. I would often stash a survival kit under my bed, prior to checking everywhere in the darkness of the night for those terrifying eyes. The panther was rumored to be seen once, and apparently had been captured, so it posed little threat, except in my nightmares that continued for several years.

In my frightening dreams, I would be alone on an island, fortunate to have the cookies and toy weapons that I grabbed from under the bed. I would never see anything except those eyes staring at me, and was never harmed, but always afraid, lonely, and hungry. I would peak behind the blinds every night, looked for tracks on the ground under my windows when I was reluctantly outdoors, and avoided going in the woods near our house. I would also wear pajamas every night, so I would never be Naked and Afraid on the imaginary Panther Island.

I still tend to avoid the Panther cage at the Zoo, and refuse to root for the Carolina Panthers football team. My mother’s high school mascot was the Panther, but even a mascot gives me the chills. Also, the Pink Panther was not lovable to me, and Marvel’s Black Panther was predictably not a comic favorite.  I tried to avoid going into Panther Creek winery when we ventured through Oregon wine country, but my former boss took our staff to their tasting room as part of a sales retreat, in an effort to show off his wine expertise.  All I could think of was Panther piss! Fortunately, the Indy Car team that I was once part of eventually changed their name to Panther Racing after I had moved away. Ironically, “panther piss” was how we secretly referred to one of our beer sponsorships, after years of being “forced” to drink that particular unnamed brand.

Beware of the Panther! I’ve somehow survived its deadly claws after all these years. As you might expect, an African Safari is not on my bucket list, but my wife wants to do it, so that may be the end of me. The panther is intimidating because it is all black and that makes its yellow eyes so strikingly hypnotic. It may be the key reason why my wife considers me to be a “homebody,” but she does not understand that there’s a “jungle out there,” once you open the condo door.