The Free Radical

(Author Narration)

Now that last month I convinced you that I never do rewrites, here’s a friggin’ rewrite. Oops! This is a very old story. It’s my best bear story. For many years it has only existed on the website of a friend of my Dad. He had gotten a printed version many years ago and decided to scan and upload it to his site. That old version was too focused on guilt. Now, eighteen years later, I’m offering this newest version… as I remember it.

Theodora

At the house in Dutch Creek, bears in the neighborhood was a fairly common occurrence. We were used to it. We expected it.

At the time of this first encounter, I was still fresh out of Calgary. I hadn’t fully made the transition from city boy to wilderness man yet. I was at my parents’ cabin by myself with warnings of mischievous bears echoing in my head. My parents referred to the most recently sighted one as Teddy. “Keep an eye out for Teddy,” they cautioned. Whatever.

It was evening in autumn. I had settled into the loft, watching a bit of TV, when I heard someone outside on the back deck. There shouldn’t have been anybody outside on the back deck. We barely had any neighbors; it was dark; the porch light at the front door was on. Why should there be anybody shuffling around on the back deck?

I hurried down to the main floor and flicked on all the outside lights. I cupped my hands around my face to peer through the glass sliding door which led to the deck. Teddy was having a barbecue! I suppose it was all those lingering smells of grilled meat which captivated the bear so.

Bears are curious– marvelously so! Everything had to be inspected, perhaps rearranged. I sat down in front of the glass door and watched. It wasn’t long before the bear was finished with the tantalizing– yet ultimately frustrating– barbecue. The inspection continued elsewhere.

Suddenly the bear was directly in front of the door behind which I sat watching. Teddy could kind of see me there, just a few feet away, and sniffed at the air to try and catch my scent… to no avail. I was safely sealed behind thick panes of glass.

Years later, my dog Jazz would insist that you never look a bear directly in the eyes, but that night, I did. Its nose was mere inches from my nose, only clear glass separated us. We stared into each other’s eyes. It was kind of magical. In a strange way I felt we had bonded in that brief moment. And as cool as that experience was, it was but the tiniest foreshadowing of what was yet to come.

The following spring I discovered early on that Teddy was actually a she-bear. She had had two cubs during the winter whom I met in the open fields when the first dandelions came into bloom. On certain days when the wind was in my face, I could sit in the open fields and watch the happy threesome make their way toward me. Eventually, when they got close enough, Momma would periodically stop to smell and taste the air. She knew I was around there somewhere, but as long as I remained motionless, she couldn’t see me. I would let them come close enough to where I sat cross-legged that I could hear their crunching of the dandelion greens as they chewed. And finally, once Momma’s eyes seemed to eventually locate me, I would just slightly wave my hand in greeting and all three would bolt for the trees. I was just having fun.

We spent that whole summer encountering each other again and again. The bears sort of got used to me. They rightly figured that I was no threat.

Bear cubs stay with their momma for two full seasons, learning everything there is to know about foraging and hibernating. That second season I encountered them less frequently, but I always knew that they were still around.

The following spring, the first for the cubs being on their own, I hadn’t seen much for bear signs around my usual stomping grounds. Then, a few of the neighbors around Dutch Creek started complaining about a bear in the community. Those who had spotted it said it was just a little one, probably its first year away from momma. The youngster was getting into garbages, gardens and compost bins, pissing everyone off. I listened to the complaints knowingly and hoped that the bear would retreat back into the forest sooner than later. Bears hanging around human settlements don’t usually fare too well in the long run.

After a few days the sightings ceased; I had gotten my wish.

It was late in the month of May, spring was well underway, and I was out walking on a very familiar road in the backcountry just west of my parents’ house. It was sunny and warm; I was working up a bit of a sweat when I spied an unfamiliar black spot out of the corner of my eye. I mopped the sweat with my t-shirt and faced the black spot– where there should be no black spot– about twenty meters into the bush. Beneath the low-hanging branches of a conifer there was… something. I decided to investigate.

At the very moment that the decision was made, a strong but very localized wind cycled through the treetops, shaking the forest and me to full wakefulness. A few nasty clouds suddenly dotted the sky above, threatening a sudden squall. I proceeded with caution.

After I had covered about half the distance I could clearly discern that there was definitely something there… substantial, motionless. I circled around to gain a better viewing angle and came to within five or six meters. It stood up. I stopped. It took a few steps– not exactly away from me, but parallel to me– and I recognized the bear immediately. It was one of the cubs– probably the one who’d been ransacking the neighborhood the previous week, I surmised. As the offspring of her momma, Teddy, I would eventually name her Theodora. She was smallish, and her energy felt feminine to me.

In attempting to make her escape, Theodora straddled a fallen tree… and got stuck, about half way. Her forelegs dangled over the log beneath her chest as her back legs still stood on the other side, unable to muster the energy to propel her onward. She was very sick, and now, suddenly stranded. I backed off immediately; I didn’t want to add to her stress. I said “I’ll be back in a bit,” and I hurried home.

Home and back took less than an hour. It was coming on to evening. At home I’d grabbed a sweater and a windbreaker and a thermos of hot herbal tea– my own special blend; I called it God’s Milk. As I returned to the vicinity of where I’d left Theodora I had been wondering whether she’d still be there, and in what condition. I was still hundreds of meters away when I first heard her labored breathing. I hurried to her side.

I was postulating answers in my head and my best surmise was that either Theodora had eaten something in someone’s garbage– like a plastic bag or a diaper, or someone in the community had deliberately set out poison. In many ways, when a bear spends a week in a human settlement, this is the inevitable consequence. I certainly had done nothing to teach her to shun humans, and so I was feeling a smidge’ culpable.

She had managed to return to the spot beneath the evergreen tree where I first spied her. I approached slowly, from the front, facing her. She was lying down and watching me. I talked to her, explaining what I was doing, why I was there… I was there to keep her company through a very difficult time.

Eventually I squatted down beside her, maybe six feet away. She’d been lying on her side, and now she suddenly raised her head to roll onto her stomach. Her movements were awkward, but at least her breathing had quieted down. I resumed talking to her, and she rolled back onto her side and rested her head again.

Slowly I made my way to within reaching distance. I wanted to touch her; I really did, but only if she wasn’t fearful. I started to sing to her. I can’t remember at all what songs I chose. She became very calm, trusting. I sat in the dirt right beside her, planting my bum on the ground as a show of faith. Neither one of us was about to spring into action or anything. We had gotten past the fear. For a short while we were actually friends.

She seemed to like the singing despite my bashful voice. I petted her on her rear flank as I sang. She did raise her head very slightly at first touch to look, and then promptly resumed her unconcern. As my singing repertoire dried up, I reached for my pack to retrieve the thermos of tea. I could use a splash. When I poured the steaming liquid into the cup, Theodora stirred. She rolled onto her stomach, lifting her head up high, nose twitching in the air. She liked the smell of the tea. I scootched away a couple of feet on my bum because I thought she was maybe a bit too interested. And as I took the first sips of tea, Theodora sat fully upright. She was planted on her bum with her “arms” reaching outward, nose still twitching in delight. I swear she was asking for tea!

Who am I to refuse? I handed the half-full cup to her; I held it right between her paws… and she took it! She held it in front of her and bent her head to within a bear’s-tongue distance and began lapping. She was still rather unbalanced and managed to spill the majority on the ground. When the cup was empty, she dropped it and lay back down exhausted. I figured the rest of the tea was hers. I refilled the cup with the remainder and placed it on the ground beside her head. I can only assume that she wanted it, but alas, she spilled it instead.

The sun had gone behind the mountains. Twilight was creeping in. We were encamped beside a seasonal mosquito pond and the locals were amassing in great numbers. My constant swatting was becoming less and less soothing to Theodora who only wanted to rest now. I hadn’t prepared to spend the night, so when the mosquitoes simply got too exasperating, I said good-bye to Theodora and promised I would return in the morning.

I didn’t feel good at all about leaving. During a restless night, I awoke shortly after 2:00 with the knowledge that a friend had passed away. I took my time that morning, even awaiting the arrival of another friend to accompany me back to the scene of Theodora’s demise.

We found her body easy enough. There’s a photo in the back of my second book, Butterfly Dreams, of me squatting beside her. In the days which followed I made my first acquaintance with Turkey Vulture.