TreeHouseView

As a college freshman, i spent an inordinate amount of time at a neighboring university because my best friend was there, and her dorm was filled with veterinary students. One night, as we walked into the main community room of that dorm, we were greeted with a sight that I can still see as clearly as if had happened yesterday.

In the middle of the room were several vet students surrounded by what looked like every other resident of the dorm, and they were all clamoring to get a look at whatever the little squirmy brown bundles were cradled in the laps of the girls seated on the floor.

“PUPPIES”, I remember thinking, while probably also squealing it aloud, however we were quickly informed that the little brown furry balls were not in fact canine, they were ursine. And my heart skipped all of its beats.

BABY BEARS.

Infant brown bears, found abandoned after their mama bear had been killed (hit by a car? Hunting mishap? I can’t recall) and the veterinary students were lucky enough (in my eyes) to be given the task of caring for the little babies around the clock. This meant brninging them home to wherever that was to care for them overnight, as the babies were too young to be left on their own.

Which meant they were young enough and docile enough to hold and cuddle and coo over like every girl in that dorm was in that moment. The danger inherent to bears was not yet a threat.

We patiently waited our turns to hold those little babies, and I remember thinking i could die a happy person in the moment that little smoosh looked up at me and snuggled into the warmth of me when it was my turn to hold one. I also remember reluctantly giving up my hold on the baby to let the next person in line have their turn. But while I got to hold the little brown bear, the world felt like it stopped spinnng. There was a connection that can only be felt if you touch something wild, connect with something on a level that you’re not supposed to, that is taught to be beyond your reach.

Verboten.

I feel a little outside of my body when I think of what it was like to hold a bear–I knew I was holding something wild and untamed. I knew that in a few short weeks and months, that little creature would be able to maim me beyond recognition or end my life in the same aituation, and that only made me feel that much higher in the moment. It was an onslaught of the circle of life of the highest order.

The experience also felt like it was against every rule of the dorm, as I know that pets/animals of any kind were strictly prohibited, and if the vet students had gotten permission from the RA or anyone in charge, I don’t know, nor did it cross my mind to care at the time. Contraband bears makes for a better story any day of the week, but I was a rule-following kind of girl (mostly) and there was a furtive sense of getting away with something that definitely added to the entire experience. I don’t know that i recognized that part in the moment but it is definitely part of my memory of the whole thing.

And it certainly heightened the emotion of the experience–my cheeks hurt from smiling and it brings tears to my eyes even thirty-some years later. I would love to hold a baby bear again, but somehow I feel that what I got to experience as an 18 year old was genuinely a once in a lifetime moment.

The little brown balls of fur were as much like puppies as they had seemed when we first saw them. They were just tiny, helpless creatures who needed a mama bear to safeguard them into the next phase of their little lives where they would be able to fend for themselves if necessary. My mother’s instinct was in overdrive in that dorm, and the entire campus was probably wondering where all the dolphin-esque squeals were coming from that night.

I’ve seen exactly two bears in the wild, and I’ve never had an urge to hold one. Granted, these other bears I’ve seen haven’t been teeny tiny little balls of fur–one was a youth that was standing on its hind legs just off a dirt road at Priest Lake in the middle of the day amongst the Huckleberry bushes, and I was driving along and spotted him/her and slammed on my brakes to see what he/she was up to. As soon as I saw how young this little one was, I decided to be on my merry way, as I knew Mama couldn’t be far behind. The little bear just watched and wondered as I drove slowly away, hoping my dog in the back of my Jeep didn’t start acting a fool and alert the mama.

The other bear was also spotted at Priest Lake that same year, furtively trying to steal food from the trash bins at Luby Bay. This was an adult-size bear and large enough to instill some dread in me. The neighboring campers had heard it (or another bear) ruslting through their campsite the night before and had decamped in the middle of the night they had apparently been so spooked. We spotted it the next night back in the same camp site (still empty) snuffling around, and were thankful for the “bear-proofing” we had done with our food. I, however, decided to sleep in my Jeep that night rather than my tent. I don’t think I slept a wink.