After years of roaming, my parents settled down in a then small mountain town. In this town was a proud Buick owner who got a new car every two or three years and took great pleasure in showing off his relative, to his neighbors, better financial status. He was also thoroughly unpleasant and haughty. One winter night, two high school students jacked up the rear of his car and put blocks under the axle near each wheel so that the tires were barely off the ground. He gets off work, starts the Buick and tries to back up. When it didn't move, he floored the accelerator. Either the spinning tires made ground contact or the Buick fell off the blocks. In any case, the Buick ended up across the street buried in a snowbank.
New to the town was a Southerner with hunting dogs. To train them, he had a crippled bobcat. He would take the bobcat outside of town, let it loose, and recapture the cat after his dogs treed it. Great fun for everyone but the bobcat. One day the bobcat got treed in the rafters of Buick owner's garage. Buick owner, investigating the commotion, finds a half dozen dogs jumping on his Buick trying to get the bobcat in the rafters. While he wasn't amused, the rest of the town was. The combinations of dog bites, fist fights, police, Game and Fish, lawyers, city fathers, and insurance adjusters involvement's took the town through the winter doldrums all the way to spring.
Recently, a bear was found wandering the town streets. Ah, the potential of a bear, dogs, and the trust funders who now populate the town makes my imagination go wild.