ANIMAL TAILS

Humble Bumble and the Pool

Many of you acquainted with Humble Bumble the grizzly bear know the story of this gentle giant and his terror of an egg; of the world being too much for him; of his fear of anything new. But I am here to report progress! We moved him to spacious new quarters this summer, a bear palace of a sort with a private swimming pool. His adjustment to the new space took some time – it was so big and so new. But his is a story about a creature’s ability to change, however slowly, at his own pace. We thought he might enjoy the pool right away, but it was rather overwhelming. After a few weeks he would gingerly swipe at the water, while standing safely at the edge. During the summer we would hear splashing sounds, always hoping it was Humble Bumble daring to take a swim – but when we went to see, he would be entertaining himself by splashing the water from terra firma. Over the next several weeks there were increasingly loud sounds of splashing – but it was always just his paws that were wet. The rest of him remained dry. Then, three months after he moved in to his new home, we heard a very large splash. By the time we got there Humble Bumble was standing safely on solid ground. But this time he was dripping wet! We weren’t sure – had he fallen in and “saved” himself? We could swear there was a look of pride and delight on his bear face. We couldn’t be sure. But it happened again and then again. We never caught him actually in the pool but it became clear he had not fallen in by accident. At six years old, Humble Bumble had overcome his fear of water . . . in his own time and in his own way. We could have easily said he was hopeless (when he was a baby it took him 20 minutes to drain a bottle that other bears could drain in 30 seconds), but we have learned, with both humans and animals, that given a chance, they will blossom in their own time, in their unique way. With the new space and stimulating company, Humble Bumble is coming into his own.

The Proper Order of Things - Lupine's Perspective

Lupine is a very small arctic wolf with a very big appetite for life - and domination. She lost her leg in an accident, but it had barely slowed her down. She runs, leaps and dominates with equal lust. Patch was born with a terrible lesion on ths eye. It needed to be operated on when he was just two weeks old, too young for anesthesia. He was very brave. He has to wear a patch for a long-time and take drops in his eyes several times a day. The operation left him blind on his right side, but he healed well. In this picutre he is submitting adoringly to Lupine. Most of our wolves do. As per wolf language Patch is making himself as small as possible. In Lupine's opinion, this is just how it should be.

Major Bear: It’s Rough Being an Ambassador

It was just tragic. A bear gets ready for a long lovely winter’s nap, putting on hundreds of pounds in preparation, the weather gets colder, the days shorter, AND he just got his ration of hay for the winter to prepare his den. It snows, an early snow. Everything is just right. Then it happened. Earthfire received a call from a Danish artist doing a project for the Danish Cultural Ministry. She was producing a special show on humans interacting with wildlife. She needed a black bear – a large one. We were highly recommended. …..could we please….(but they hate going out in the snow)……just a couple of hours… (but he’s sleepy)….please please – we won’t make any demands of him, all you have to do is just sit with him on the ground; it will help foster your educational mission; it will promote international bear understanding……(well if you come right away and it really is just an hour). And so it happened. We arrived at the door to his den bearing fresh blueberries, calling him to the Wildlife Garden. What was a bear to do? We expected him to walk on SNOW. It was simply awful. But then there were those sweet juicy berries. But then it was cold (notwithstanding the fact that he was well-insulated with fat to about 30 degrees F. below zero). It was wet. His paws were tender. He wanted to go home. He whined, a truly pathetic sound. He walked carefully, delicately placing each paw on the ground and picking it up as soon as possible while still trying to walk slowly and somehow keep four paws off the ground at the same time, trying to manage this feat while sleepy. And then – and then they wanted him to SIT in the stuff! No way. He absolutely refused. No enticements worked. Not even close. The artist was desperate. The hour was up. Then brainstorm. We brought in a bale of fresh hay and spread it out, making a nice soft little dry spot in the vast horrible whiteness. Eyes opened wide. Beeline. He rushed over (relatively speaking) and sat down without asking. Parked himself, actually. Jean walked over and sat next to him and they had a marshmallow picnic in the snow as a reward. It is rough, being an ambassador.

Tiny Size, Immense Presence

She arrived on our doorstep about one week old, very still and so cold, so cold. It was a little coyote girl. She appeared to be dead, but holding her, I detected what might be the faintest heartbeat. I wrapped her in a towel and put her on a hot water bottle. It was a long time before warmth returned to her body. She lived! During the day she stayed with me, wrapped in a shirt around my waist; at night she cried out for companionship until I took her into the bed. She would snuggle close, contented, peaceful, quiet. For some reason that month we had many visitors and school programs. With all her coyote life force she taught, she showed, she helped people feel, deep in their hearts. It is impossible to describe the look of wonder and delight on little faces as they touched her. Utter magic. Four hundred people she taught that month. But despite our best efforts, as April turned into May, she started to fade. There was no medical reason – she just gently faded away until she was gone. She was on this earth for only four weeks, but what an impact she made! An impact not measured by time, or size, but by heart and spirit.