My trip to the Pacific Northwest is at an end. Several days in the forest with not even the slightest trace of Bigfoot. I was so sure this time! Besides the lead at the bed and breakfast, my instincts told me there was something there, something to be uncovered. I have failed.
This is turning out to be worse than my expedition to Mexico to investigate that farmer's sheep disappearance. Turned out that the culprit was not El Chupacabra at all. It was a returning coyote, or, more likely, the man's own pet dog. The thing was constantly running after his sheep. He tried to explain to me that it was a sheep dog. "Exactly," I told him.
Perhaps I have chosen the wrong line of work.
