Three nights ago I woke up to something big scrambling off my deck. I shook myself awake enough to turn over and look out the window and saw a large black bear lumbering through the moonlight into the woods.
I never did understand what he was doing on my deck—or what startled him off it. But there was no mystery to why the next bear appeared the next night.
I awoke to the sound of apples hitting the ground. Time was when I would have leapt out of bed, down the stairs, and out the door to chase the bear off. My apples! But now I thought, well, I couldn't reach the apples myself, anyway. Might as well let the bear have them. And I went back to sleep.
Yesterday late afternoon I heard apples hitting the ground again. I looked out the window. Bear again. A little bear, not a cub, but not one of those huge lumbering things, either. He was so little he was cute. I had to laugh. As soon as I opened the door and walked onto the deck, he was off like a shot, so I didn't get any pictures.
I have never had so many apples as I have this year. They are small because I haven't given any attention to the tree, and, actually, they aren't quite ripe yet. The bear doesn't care. And, being a small bear, he doesn't break branches when he climbs the tree, and sometimes he leaves apples on the ground for my harvest. We have an agreement.
I am careful in my relationship with the wild creatures. I love my lame fox, who looks right at me and barks at me and has no qualms about curling up to sleep in front of my garden. It is tempting to make a pet of him, but I won't. I don't think it's right or a good idea to make a pet of a wild creature. I'll let the fox recognize me and go his way; I'll let the bear eat the apples and let him still be scared when I open the door.
But, darn he's cute.
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