Yeti Nother Sad Lovestory –Megan Zabel

When I was a little girl, I fell in love with the most amazing man I’d ever seen. I vowed that I when I grew up I would find him, and that even though I was just a child I’d never feel the same way about anyone else.

He was tall, rugged, and loved fish sandwiches. But it wasn’t meant to be. When Harry got out of the Henderson’s station wagon and walked through the forest fog to his camouflaged big foot friends, my tiny heart was forever broken. Some girls fantasize about their weddings. For me, it was mostly sasquatch.

And why not? More absurd, less lovely things exist. Like Ann Coulter or duck-billed platypuses. And those grisly deep sea wart-fish with the flashing light danglies. Are big hairy man-apes really that out of the question?

Jeffrey Meldrum doesn’t think so. He’s a professor of anatomy and anthropology at Idaho State University and wrote the book, Sasquatch: Legend Meets Science. One’s first instinct might be to wonder if Mr. Meldrum also has jackalopes mounted in his study and operates an opium den. As far as I can tell, negative. And upon some investigation, Idaho really has a University.

So, what does Professor Yeti have to share? A surprisingly level-headed, objective analysis. The first book on sasquatch to be written by a scientist with indisputable credentials merely presents facts, a rarity in this subject so inundated with hoaxes and sensationalism. Meldrum examines all evidence critically without making a conclusion, but establishes the grounds for further investigating.

Hmm, what kind of evidence, oh skeptical reader? We’re not talking snapped twigs and bear turds here. It’s more like Big Foot CSI. Meldrum studies skin ridges on the soles of feet, film footage, and DNA, and then compares it to that of primates and all sorts of other species. And after all this, he disentangles fact from acid-trip anecdotes and wishful thinking (I’m guilty), and concludes that the search for yeti and sasquatch is a valid scientific endeavor.

Hallelujah! I have to believe in Big Foot the same way others need to believe in “freedom” or “antibacterial hand soap.” Knowing that in this conquered world, with barely any more secrets to spill, that a reclusive society of furry bi-peds might silently inhabit the space around me — it restores my faith in adventure, reassures me that there is still an unknown.

So I guess I sort of hope that they don’t saunter their hairy arses out to introduce themselves anytime soon. I’d rather they just kept leaving me little clues. A 15-inch footprint here, a devoured carcass there… just enough to preserve the mystery.

(I’m still waiting, Harry. It’s been you… all along.)