Bearly Bearable

A few nights ago, just as dusk was falling, I was laid back in a reclining pose, listening to music. At these times, my eyes are most often closed, as I become immersed in the mood of the song. For some reason I opened them for a moment, to have my attention grabbed by the motion of something large and dark, at the corner of my vision. I turned my head toward the object, to spot a bulky, moving, black shadow outside—barely visible in the twilight.

Chompsky the dog was reclining on the bed, so it couldn't be him; besides this critter was much larger. Our neighbor has a huge dog, so I next wondered if his dog Duke had wandered by. But Duke has never visited us, and this creature I was seeing had a round butt and no discernible tail. Holy excrement! It seemed to be a bear!

I cut short the music and bounded from my chair, headed toward the window, through which I spotted the creature. My wife, alerted by my excited moves, asked what was up. A bear is wallowing around, not six feet from the house, I exclaimed! We got down on our knees, to better see it in a lower window, and watched it slowly turn this way, then that—obviously searching for food. Within a couple of minutes it turned and wandered ponderously up the hill toward the garden.

We looked at each other in wonder, trying to fully absorb the event. In the 34 years we've lived here, we've never spotted a bear. We have a neighbor who's told us several times that a bear resides in the area, but he's also the kind of guy who's convinced that our woods are crawling with coyotes and cougars. 
 
Several years ago we believe we were visited by a bear in the night, after surveying the destruction of our bird feeder and bee hive the next morning, but that was not proof positive that it was indeed a bear. I once spotted what appeared to be bear poop in the woods, but still no irrefutable evidence. I do not claim to be an expert on animal scat...it could have maybe been an overgrown raccoon, for all I know.

As we tried to accept what our eyes had viewed, we wondered if the bear was still around. Was it up there, destroying the garden? Had it decided to attack the trash can, as was done a few years ago by a previous bear-like visit? (I had decided that that earlier event was probably a bear, as the plastic trash barrel had suffered several puncture holes—about the size of what a bear claw would leave.)

I gingerly and silently stepped outside, to see if Bruno was still around—keeping close to the door, in case a hasty retreat was in order. Bears are not aggressive critters, I believe, but I did not wish to test this one's tranquility. It seemed to be gone. The next morning, as I checked out the area, I could spot no damage.

My wife did some internet investigation the next day. Bears forage for food in early morning or at twilight—that defines them as crepuscular critters. They are omnivorous, feeding on most anything they encounter. Virginia black bears are shy and rarely belligerent. (Maybe I could have wandered farther from the door, the previous evening?) Their territory is very large—being up to 20 square miles for a female and as much as 100 square miles for a male. Roaming around that expansive range is likely why we've never seen one before. Maybe it'll make the rounds back to our yard in another 34 years. If I'm alive at 111, I'll be ready for that visit.