A Cozy Place For A Bear

Well, Good evening, Mister Bear!

I didn’t expect to find you here.

What has brought you out of your winter slumber?

Surely, you’re not inspecting the barn for lumber?

I suspect you’re seeking a chicken number!

.

The snow has barely begun to fall in earnest.

Although, I’m sure this cold makes you grateful that you have your built-in fur-nace.

Now, pray-tell, why are you in the chicken run?

If you aim to harm, this won’t be fun…

.

“I can feel the heat from your barn and was merely looking to get some rest.”

‘Oh, Mister Bear… Surely you jest?

Leave you with my flock? They’ll never rest!

Nor will I!’

.

Mister Bear began to cry,

“No one ever lets me hibernate anywhere warm.

It’s always a frigid cave or hollow tree

Why isn’t there someplace cozy?

A place for a little bear like me?”

And that was how the bear cub came to sleep in my garage on that frigid December night. I didn’t feed him, nor encourage him to stay. But I couldn’t very well leave him in the cold! He was still a cub and hadn’t hurt my flock. Thankfully, when I stumbled upon him he was simply curled up near the heater in the barn!

I tried to shoo him out into the yard but he groaned and wouldn’t budge. So, I opened the doors leading to the garage in hopes he’d go in there instead. Then, I could lock up the barn and keep him away from my flock of fluffy butts! Which is precisely what happened. I left the garage door open so he could scamper back out when ready. The whole time I was really hoping his mama didn’t decide to show up and decide this was their cave for the remainder of the season.

The photo below is of a different (and much larger!) bear who took up residence in our driveway for a couple of weeks back in 2020. A loud BANG woke me one night and had me running through the house to see what was going on. I pulled back the curtain just in time to see this bear with her head and shoulders stuck under a chair on the porch. She sent it flying, over the railing (She never replaced it, come to think of it…) and then went after the garbage barrels.

Afterward, she just meandered around the yard for a while before going down to the General Store, raiding their barrels, and coming back, toting one. I woke up hours later because of the crowing (The barn housing my chickens was adjacent to the house I was renting.) and saw her laying out there munching away with a General Store-labeled trash barrel. Shortly after she was settling in for the night, right outside the mudroom door.

Ah, the joys of living in a Vermont village!

. . .

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This poem was originally published on Medium.