I recently spent quite a bit of time discussing many important topics with a very magical looking fox. I found the fox near a human cave, sitting on the human’s trimmed grass (why do humans trim grass when it is so neat and perfect as it is?) and staring off into space. The fox had what looked like some kind of fancy hat resting on its fuzzy head. Its whole body sparkled in the air, drawing my attention. It lit up its immediate space. It was magical.

I approached the fox cautiously. Most foxes run when they are approached no matter how cautious or friendly you might try to be toward them, but this fox was firmly staying where it was. I took that as a cue to continue approaching the fox. When I got face-to-face with the creature, I was mesmerized by how inviting it seemed. It stared at me as I stared back, emitting an aura of pleasantness that made me feel comfortable and fulfilled.

So I shared with the magical fox. I shared my concerns about being a bear and how bearness is part of the forest and how the forest is part of bearness. I confessed how I was afraid of the plans of squirrels and how belittled I felt when I saw the deer across the river. I explained to this magical little fox that I sometimes felt like one tiny, insignificant piece of the complex organism that was the forest, and that my piece of that organism was not entirely needed and even, at times, unwanted.

Eventually, I felt like I was doing too much of the sharing, so I asked the magical fox to share. The fox stared at me some more as I eagerly waited for its perspective of the forest.

But it never came.

The fox never shared.

I did not want to intrude this magical creature’s personal space, but I did not know what to do, so I pushed my nose against the fox’s nose. And it stung me! It was sharp and strangely pointy and not fuzzy at all. Further investigation led me to realize this magical fox was not a fox it all. It was a magical chunk of plastic and sharp things. Once I realized this, I did what I do with just about all plastic things I find: I chewed on it. It tasted very sharp. And it hurt. And it shocked me.

I placed far too much trust into the magical fox who was actually a piece of sharp, shocking plastic. I am happy I did, though. Even if nothing heard my woes and thoughts and feelings, it felt good sharing them.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? The newest adventure is all about safety!

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.