This is a tough one for a guy who has milked rattlesnakes, smelled the hot salmon breath of an Alaskan brown bear, landed 200-pound sharks, and once endured the incredible hardship of spooning down tomato soup WITHOUT crackers!

Yup. Me of flannel and wool, hiking boots and binoculars, hunting dogs and dried out sandwiches, is about to open up like a filleted fish for all the world to see. Well, sort of anyway.

Please, dear reader, understand that no amount of prologue to this story can do it justice. I too am mortal, although what I about to reveal may lead you to conclude otherwise. I understand. But I can no longer endure the deep secret, the recurring nightmare, that I am about to unveil.

In doing so I yield completely to those who adhere to the axiom that it is best to “get things off your chest” rather than hide them deep inside your soul where they continue to fester and haunt before eventually bursting forth in some hideous and harmful manner. In doing what is best for me I humbly plead for your understanding in advance.

This rivetting saga began several years ago in a land far, far away. Dreamland actually. I was in the midst of a slumber like no other, sawing wood if you will, when this seemingly innocent incident played forth in my head that was so gently resting on a comfortable pillow.

Now, I presume many of you, perhaps all of you, will quickly come to the conclusion that this was the night that I actually lost my mind. Boldly, foolishly perhaps, I shoulder that risk.

You see, while mired in this delicious sleep, it wasn’t a case of “sugar plums dancing in my head”, but rather the cutest little elephant, so wonderful that Walt Disney would be envious, that appeared before me. I was at the back door of my home, calling my dogs to come in from the yard which, being infinitely loyal, they dutifully did. All but Flim Flob.

Flim Flob, the little elephant, was happily playing in a puddle in the alley and completely unwilling to exchange that environment for the comfort of a rug in the kitchen, at least I assume that’s what was the reason.

How in the wonderful world of insanity did I know the foot-tall elephant was named Flim Flob? Please read further before Googling the whereabouts of support groups for this intrepid writer.

A few days after this rather entertaining and still private and undiagnosed dream that I dared share only with close family members until this very public publication, I received a phone call that required me to write something of importance on a notepad. That’s when I discovered something was already written on the top page of the notepad.

It was wildly perplexing, squiggly and ghoulish writing the likes of which I had never encountered. About the time I had determined only some sort of handwriting expert could figure out the meaning of the bizarre inscription, maybe even who the author was, I made out the Flim, then the Flob and, finally, Flagoblivon, which was scrawled almost vertically and nearly off the page. Stunning stuff!

I suddenly remembered what I hadn’t remembered when waking up the morning of my elephant episode. Flim Flob was the name I used to call that little elephant to come inside. When he wouldn’t respond, I did so more sternly by using his last name as well, Flagobliven.

Now, dear reader, I cannot fathom where Flim Flob Flagobliven originates. I’d never heard of that weird moniker, or anything even remotely like it, before or since. What I did recall after seeing the utterly nonsensical gibberish handwriting, was that in my dream I was so fascinated by the murky adventure that I was determined to write down some notes so as not to forget, which, of course, I did.

You see, I was on such a mission to preserve the quirky theatrical display that had played out in my mind for reasons yet unknown, that I had gotten out of bed, scribbled the nearly illegible note, and returned to my deep slumber. I awoke refreshed, feeling wonderful, and with absolutely no recall of little Film Flob. Thank goodness! At least until a couple of days had passed and I discovered the goofy note.

To this day when I hear the phrase “the elephant in the room,” I smile and laugh internally as it brings back fond, albeit uniquely strange, images of Film Flob. I feel better now, having shared this previously hidden burden with the world.

Time to go fishing, probably alone though after my fishing partners digest my dreamy admission and determine it best to fish any lake other than the one I intend to fish. Oh well, no matter, I’ve always got Film Flob to keep me company.