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| Volume XVIII, Number 13 | Wednesday, Oct. 23, 2002 | |
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A Girl and Her Bear By Erica Lee As of this writing, a grizzly bear is stalking the Bitterroot Valley. This marauding bruin has thus far escaped Fish & Wildlife traps and dragnets. His last reported whereabouts were south and east of Stevi, literally (gulp) in my backyard. This point was brought home yesterday as a Fish & Wildlife truck patrolled up and down my lane looking, no doubt, for our good bear, gone bad. The thought of a griz lurking in the bushes weighed heavily on me as I walked briskly in the dark last night to cover my tomatoes from yet another frost. Face it, I was scared! We think she was trying to cover her tomatoes, a grim-faced patrolman would tell the cameras, but all we found were the plastic bags. Yikes! But then a calmness came over me as I recounted what was already known about this particular bear. Somehow, he'd escape sophisticated traps, and what's more, he wasn't into turning over garbage cans. Then it dawned on me, this is one smart and well-behaved bear. And if we were to meet, he'd probably conduct himself rather civilly. And what would I do upon this chance encounter? Why, try to make friends of course, much as one would with a stray pet. Offer a little food in a bowl, a scratch behind the ears, and you're the best of friends. Perhaps I could even adopt him as a pet. Suddenly this scenario played itself out in intriguing detail. First, how would I explain the presence of a 600-pound beast happily chewing on a bone in my backyard? He's a very rare breed of dog, I'd explain, known as an Australian Berryhound. But he's so big!, they'd say with eyes like saucers. That's so he can reach the berries, I'd point out. They grow pretty tall in Australia, you know. Next I'd have to figure out how to shelter him for his long winter's snooze. No problem, I thought, I'll just run down to the local hardware store and pick up one of their larger aluminum tool sheds. With a piece of plywood and a handy saw, I'd make one of those rounded dog house doors. Next, a couple of coats of white paint, and presto: A king-size doghouse for old. . . hmmm, what about a name? Gentle Ben? No, it might raise suspicions. Old Yeller? No, Disney wouldn't be amused. King? No, not a good idea to draw additional attention to his regal size. Hmmm, something that picks up on his bruinish ways... That's it: Old Bru! Together, we'd run in the brilliant sunshine across the Bitterroot's browning fields, with the snow-capped Rockies providing the perfect backdrop. A truer friendship couldn't be had for this girl and her bea... er..dog. So the next time you're traveling just south of Stevi, you may hear drifting across the wind, almost as a song, "Here Old Bru!" And if you should, please do me the favor of responding with a rousing chorus of "You're a good dog you!" That'll reinforce that Old Bru really is a dog and help keep this thing from getting out. It may even sidestep me from getting into a heck of a lot of trouble with my friends at Fish and Wildlife. |
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