Monday, June 18, 2012
A wandering Bear
“Well,” he said with a smile in his voice, “that’s good. She’s a rebel.” And with an extra boost of enthusiasm added, “Rebel on Bear.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I wasn’t really mad at her.”
I was frustrated however as I watched Bear wend her way up the trail, her black shape like a solid shadow amongst the bright green undergrowth of giant leaves and scrub trees, getting farther and farther away.
His entire body became like one taut muscle ready to unleash its explosive energy on the world and there were so many stops and starts Bear didn’t even glance back at us as she disappeared into the woods. Apparently she didn’t have the patience for that sort of thing.
So Murdoch and I picked our way awkwardly along the overgrown trail that runs between our forest and the one behind, jostling for position amongst the weeds and saplings growing suddenly to jungle-like proportions. We finished our standard loop, the one we usually do with Bear, and headed back into the cooler shade of our woods.
We played stick for a while in the hopes Bear would show up at the sound of snapping, splintering wood and thundering paws, but she didn’t come.
It wasn’t until after we’d returned to the house for a drink of water and then retraced our steps along the trail that we finally found her emerging from the greenery through which I’d watched her disappear as though she’d been there the whole time, except she was panting and smiling and covered in pine needles.
“Where were you Beary?” I asked, relief chasing away my mounting worry and frustration. She glanced at me with an expression of mission accomplished and swayed past us with a relaxed wag of her tail. Murds and I followed her back towards the house both asking her in our own way what she’d done and where she’d gone, me saying, “That was kind of rude Bear.” And Murds, I’m sure, telling her to next time “wait for me!”