Tag Archives: @a_single_bear

Birds as hats: a failed experiment.

I do not generally wear hats for one very important reason: I am a bear, and I do not know if bears are supposed to wear hats.

That does not mean I have never tried to wear a hat. I once found a very lovely hat in an abandoned tent. It was red and soft, but I did not know what to do with it at first. I ate it, which, as it turns out, is not what you are supposed to do with hats.

Rob (the squirrel) later explained to me that hats are what humans wear on their heads because they do not have enough fur to keep warm all of the time like most forest animals. He laughed at me for eating it and called me a fool.

It was not nice, but I appreciated the information. I vowed that if I ever found a hat again, I would try to wear on my head so I could have a human experience.

When I finally found a hat again, it was in a dumpster and it was plastic. I put the hat on my head, but it did little in keeping me warm or being comfortable or not making it hard to get air into my body. From then on, I merely assumed hats were not for bears. It made sense, after all, as I already had enough fur on my head to keep me warm.

After living and accepting my hatless existence for a very long time, I eventually began to wonder if maybe my hat experience was just a bad hat experience. Should I give hat wearing another try? Even if my head is already warm, would it not be nice for it to be even warmer? Maybe the plastic hat I found was not actually a hat and was more of a bag, actually, in retrospect, I am pretty sure that was the case?

I wanted a warm head like humans must get to experience on a daily basis (I imagine all humans wear hats all the time (why would you not want a warm head forever?)).

The chances of me finding another hat were slim, unfortunately. So I had to consider alternatives to hats.

I tried rocks, but they were far too hard and difficult to balance on my head. They also scratched my scalp a little too much.

The hat of leaves I made was nice, but it fell apart as soon as it rained, and it had far too many bugs in it for it to be comfortable while I was sleeping.

I tried accepting the cave above my head as a kind of hat, but since it did not actually touch my head, I had a hard time justifying that theory.

That is when I got an idea: why not put something I know is warm on my head? Most forest creatures are warm, so why not see if one could be my hat?

The idea was almost forgotten as soon as I remembered the time I let a opossum sleep on my head one cold, winter day. I woke up with very angry wounds near my eyes.

What kind of animal was warm enough to be a hat and docile enough to want to be a hat?

For some reason, my thoughts went straight to birds. Birds like to be perched in things, and why would you choose to perch in a tree when you could perch in warm bear fur?

I asked a bird who liked to make sounds outside of my cave every morning if it would be interested in nesting in my head fur, effectively becoming my hat. The bird agreed.

It was pleasant at first. The bird built a nest of sticks in my fur and made a cozy little home. It was sometimes difficult to keep on my head, but I managed to keep it secure while I walked around the forest.

The real problems began when the bird would fly away to do bird things, and I would end up just balancing some sticks on my head until the bird was back. And though it was nice when the eggs hatched, I knew this relationship could not last long.

I told the bird it could not longer be my hat. It was difficult to break the news to her, but she took it well and even let me keep the nest she had built (I did not actually want it, but I kept it to be nice).

Hats are not for me. People hats. Bird hats. Plastic bag hats. I am not meant to wear hats. I have to accept the furriness and warmth of my head as it is and move on.

Thank you, though, bird.

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?

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.

The dumpster next to the broken fences: a food experience critique.

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I frequent many dumpsters in my travels throughout the forest and areas adjacent. With as many as I do visit, it can be difficult for a dumpster to really stick out to me as particularly special or worthy of future visits. The dumpster next to the broken fences I found, however, manages to do both of those things. Not only did this dumpster feature an interesting spicy plastic dish I had never had, but it also managed to contain not one but two whole fish carcasses. Even with the (possibly rabid) raccoon watching my every move in mind, the dumpster next to the broken fences has been one of the best dining experiences I have had in a very long time.

Course 1: Spicy yellow plastic bag with very strange dust

I have to admit, after I managed to hurdle my legs over and into this dumpster, I was not optimistic about the first thing I found. I have eaten many plastic bags in the past, and though they are very fun to chew on, they are not great to eat and almost impossible to digest. This plastic bag, however, was so intriguing. Spicy. It was so spicy. I could feel the heat of whatever once sat in the bag run down my tongue and out of my nose as it cleared my nostrils. There was a strange dust that came with the bag, too. It was spicy like the bag, but there was so little of it available. I liked what I had, but I really just wanted more. Side note: the plastic bag featured a drawing of a very strange cat with black eyes and thumbs. I was not fond of him. He was scary.

Course 2: Two fish carcasses (one with the eyes still in the head)

I did not expect fish carcasses. Sure, maybe one fish carcass. Maybe cans that smell like fish carcasses. But two whole carcasses? This was a rarity and a delight. One carcass even had two large, yellow eyes resting in the skull. The bones of the carcasses were soft and chewable, making them very easy to eat. I did not accidentally choke even once. One fish carcass was drenched in a tangy sort of red mystery liquid. I hoped the sauce would be hot and spicy like the plastic bag from the first course, but, unfortunately, it was quite bland and did little in favor of the carcass itself. It was not unpleasant, but it was definitely not necessary.

Course 3: Apples cores with a light coating of coffee grounds

The apples cores looked stunning. Presentation wise, they were the most appetizing looking course of the night. Unfortunately, I was unable to actually eat any of them as my meal was interrupted by a (possibly rabid) raccoon who barged into the dumpster very suddenly. Then I heard very loud shouting as the raccoon scrambled and clawed at me. He quickly jumped out of the dumpster and I followed because loud sounds are very scary.

The dumpster next to the broken fences I found was one of the best dining experiences I have had since that time I licked the moldy rock in my cave an entire morning. I would give it a perfect review if it were not for the incredibly scary loud sounds that drove me away at the end of the meal. With its minor faults in mind, I give the dumpster next to the broken fences I found:

4 out of 5 lovely leaves.

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?

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.

I think there might be too many leaves.

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Calculating the ever-growing number of leaves that seem to fall from trees is an impossible task. Just when you think they have all fallen and that there could not be any more lingering up in the branches, more come.

I tried to consolidate the number of leaves in the direct vicinity of my cave one afternoon in hopes that it would make the opening of my cave more appealing to forest creatures who pass by. Rob (the squirrel) calls this “curb appeal.” He also suggest I trim some of the low branches of nearby trees, but I decided this would be cruel since the trees did nothing wrong and did not deserve such a punishment. Trees are pure entities who only have good will toward everything else in the forest (even the awful act of shedding leaves is actually beyond their control). If anyone or anything was to blame for the number of leaves on the ground, it was the wind…

I knew the wind was to blame after my initial leaf consolidation.

I had seven tidy piles collected that resulted a nice grassy clearing to lay in. The sun beamed through the bare branches to heat my newly cleared spot. It was refreshing to have the warmth beneath by belly meat. Before I could drift off to sleep, a rush of crunchy orange and red things pelted me in the face.

I sprung from the clearing to see that the piles I had collected were launching a full assault against me and their driving force was, beyond any doubt, the wind.

I felt betrayed. The wind was often the source of delicious smells. Why would it turn on me with such malice?

I wondered if I was hasty in blaming the wind. Maybe there were really just too many leaves.

There was only one way to find out. I would turn the leaves into something constructive. With the help of Rob (the squirrel) I skewered leaves on fallen twigs and used bits of twine from the dumpster to cinch them together. Eventually I had enough to begin forming the twigs into shapes. The shapes eventually formed images. From the leaf skewers I formed the shapes of many things in the forest: rabbits, squirrels, rocks, trees (ironically enough), me, and even a really big leaf.

From the chaos I created something wonderful. Rob (the squirrel) even lauded my work (even though he said that if the squirrel I made was him, it was a bit fatter than he’d like it to be).

With an overwhelming sense of pride in my work, I decided I had deserved a nap. I went into my cave and fell asleep the moment my head hit the dirt floor.

Hours later, I awoke to find my work ransacked by raccoons. They had destroyed all the shapes I had made (perhaps I should have thrown just one raccoon into the mix).

I wanted to be angry about what had occurred, but I wasn’t. Instead, I was struck with an epiphany.

Too many leaves was not the problem.

Vandal art critic raccoons were.

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?

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.

Hiding day.

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Yesterday was a hiding day.

I do not know from what I hid, but I hid from it for quite a long time. I frequently find myself using a nice hiding day to keep away from whatever emotions, deer, bad weather, or rowdy squirrels could potentially give me trouble in a given day. It is nice to just hide away sometimes.

This particular hiding day, however, I wanted to know something: what happened when I hid? Did my worries and troubles really go away? Did the forest worry for my presence, perhaps even going so far as to send search parties out for me? Did anyone actually know where I hid?

There were so many mysteries on hiding days. Another mystery I had to figure out was how I would collect data on a hiding day. How could I hide and understand how the forest functioned while I was hiding? I would have to trust a friend.

I considered trusting Rob (the squirrel), but I knew he would do what all squirrels do (lie). Instead, I decided to ask a very friendly blue bird who nested in a small bush outside of my cave. The bird agreed to fly around the forest during my hiding day, seeing if anything out of the ordinary would happen, particularly things that seemed dependent on the presence of a bear (me).

Then I hid.

I hid inside the very bush where my new bird friend usually nested. It was a good hide. I spent practically all day sitting and hiding and enjoying some peaceful napping and staring.

Then the tiny blue bird came back and reported what he had found.

Nothing.

He told me that the forest had remained the same throughout the day. Nothing of notable importance had shifted in any way he could discern.

Everything was fine.

Without me.

Everything kept moving as it always had and likely always will.

It felt strange.

I thanked the bird for its time and observations and went to my cave. I napped some more. It was difficult to sleep with the knowledge of how unimportant I was to daily forest activities.

I had a dream where the bird, though observant and thorough, simply missed all the tiny aspects I impacted on a daily basis. He missed how the floor of my cave grew cold without me. He missed how Rob (the squirrel) was likely even more aimless and crazy than usual without my presence to balance him. He missed how the deer across the river probably did not even go to the river when I was not there. He missed that his day had even completely changed because of a simple request from me. He missed how the sun came up a few hours later and left a few hours earlier and how the moon did not shine as brightly as it usually did and how the sky fell a few feet downward and…

But that was just a dream. And a nice thought. But maybe he really did just miss a couple things.

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?

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.

I wish bad things did not happen.

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I had a collection of sticks.

It was a lovely collection. It contained sticks that were long, sticks that were short, sticks that were pointy, sticks that split off into some sort of double stick thing, sticks that had been broken into more sticks, and even a few items that were not sticks but I felt deserved to be in the collection (dirt, a plastic bottle I found, some acorns, etc.).

I kept the collection near my cave and added to it frequently. The collection was growing quite large, and I loved seeing it grow. I was very proud of my collection of sticks (and stick related items), and just knowing that it was there, ever being a lovely collection of sticks (and stick related items), was comforting to me.

Recently, however, it was damaged. I do not know by whom or why, but someone or something ravaged my collection of sticks (and stick related items). I approached my sacred pride early one morning to find it strewn throughout the forest, massive chunks of the once amazing assortment scattered and broken and lost and gone forever.

I was heartbroken.

Why would someone do this? What had the collection of sticks (and stick related items) done to anyone? I tried to follow the path of chaos that had been left by the destroyer, but it was fruitless. Even pursuing the idea did little to make me feel any better about having lost the sticks in the first place. I just wanted my sticks (and stick related items).

I growled for awhile. At nothing, really. I wanted to be angry at what happened, and I wanted that anger directed at someone I could blame. But the loud roars I produced also failed to make feel any better about my lost stick (and stick related items) collection.

I felt lost and helpless. I considered: Why have a stick (and stick related items) collection to begin with if someone or something can just completely destroy it on a whim and with reckless, hostile force? Why bother collecting anything that could be so quickly smothered out of existence without notice?

I sulked for awhile, sitting next to my fractured stick (and stick related items) collection.

Then I collected the sad remnants of my sticks. I picked up the ones I could find with gritted teeth.

I piled everything back the way I remembered it was, as best I could.

It was a slightly smaller collection of sticks (and stick related items) now, but it was still my collection of sticks (and stick related items).

I do not know why my collection of sticks (and stick related items) was attacked. I wish it had not been. I wish my collection had been allowed to just be a collection of sticks (and stick related items) forever, never losing sticks or getting tossed around or being destroyed.

I wish that had not happened, but it did. I still have my collection of sticks (and stick related items), though. And I will keep adding to it like I have been. Maybe, one day, it will be just like it was before.

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?

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

The potentially wonderful but possibly nonexistent river bear.

Accepting snakes: why I want to but I cannot.

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Snakes are horrifyingly terrible terror serpents who I assume only exist to make life for all other living organisms in the forest more difficult and exhausting.

I apologize for that very aggressive introduction, but snakes and I have a long, horrible history, and that history is almost completely based off snakes intruding on my personal space (mentally and physically) and harming me (mentally or physically).

When I push my emotions to the side and truly contemplate snakes as creatures in the forest (as they well deserve), I know they exist for reasons that are likely too complex or important for me to thoroughly understand and process. Snakes have a purpose. I know this. However, I wish I knew that the importance of this purpose outweighed my aggressive loathing for them.

I cannot figure out their purpose, though.

Why are snakes here and why does the forest need them and why can they not just leave me alone and exit my mind and my cave and never come near me ever?

I asked other creatures of the forest why snakes existed. I received varying answers. A opossum screeched at me (I assume she is afraid of snakes, too). The anthill I asked seemed neutral on the subject, responding mostly in silence and very organized rows of many, which makes sense given that ants seem to only care about ants, dirt, and how ants interact with dirt. Rob (the squirrel) (from whom I did not expect a rational or just answer) said that snakes have only one purpose: to be questioned about by me. He then laughed at me and stole an acorn I had found.

I also asked a lizard. My thinking was that lizards look quite similar to snakes (except for the legs and discernible body/tail and generally pleasant disposition), so perhaps lizards had more insight on the subject. The lizard said that everything has a purpose in the forest, and that often the purposes are very subtle and involve food. He added that these purposes only exist in the construct of the forest and have no value outside of the forest and, therefore, meant almost nothing on any scale larger than the forest so making cosmic sense of anything was ultimately futile and a waste of time. I liked the first part of the answer (it was difficult to consider the second part because of the food part of the first part), but it did not help. Are snakes food? Do snakes make food? Should I eat more snakes?

Snakes are a part of life. They always have been. They always will be. No matter how much I want snakes to not be a part of life, there is no changing these facts. I have to learn how to live with snakes. Or I have to begin eating all snakes (which I do not want to do because they have pointy teeth and the few times I have eaten snakes I felt a deep, uneasy essence in my being that I was unable to get rid of for days, even weeks on in).

Maybe I can just try to talk to snakes. I do not think I have ever done that. Maybe understanding snakes is like understanding any other creature: you just have to get to know them personally. And not eat them or assume they exist only to ruin your life.

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?

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

Also, thank you to everyone who participated in the survey-based adventure Bear embarked upon on Twitter last week. Thousands of you voted to help him decide what basic decisions to make about his day. It was very fun, and he hopes to find time to do it again soon.

I talked to a snake and it bit me.

Branches and roots and bark and being a home for others: I want to be a tree sometimes.

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I like being a bear, but I would be fibbing if I said I never dreamed about being a tree. Trees are noble, silent, and everseeing and probably everknowing and smell great. Trees are tall and impressive. They taste good. They are fun to chew on. Trees are everything to everyone forever and never complain about having to fulfill that duty all of the time.

I like trees.

I am not a tree, though. I will never be a tree. And maybe that is for the best, but I do like pretending I can be a tree. One of my favorite pastimes is digging my pointy claws into the soft earth and pretending they are tangled roots to my tree being. I dig in and settle myself and let the wind and the elements run through my fur and my ears.

I pretend I can see everything in that spot forever. I imagine the seasons passing over me constantly and consistently. I imagine my fur as gnarled branches reaching toward the sky, acting as homes for birds and bugs and bees and leaves and light and anything else that is light enough to stay there when it wants to. I close my eyes and think about existing in the same spot for what must feel like always and experiencing that single spot for so long that you know everything about it.

Eventually the soil gets uncomfortable, though. I realize I am not a tree and shake the dirt off my toes and go back to being what I know I am: a bear. I will never truly get to experience the longevity or evereverythinging of treeness.

I only know how to experience bearness. I suppose that is not too horrible, but I do constantly find myself trying to know existing beyond what existing as a bear has to offer. I wish I could be like the raccoon I ran into while sleeping in a dumpster a few days ago who was chewing on his own leg and foaming from the mouth and (maybe even) the ears: I wish I could just accept who I am.

But I cannot. I think I always desire the -ness of another being, and I will probably always have a hard time accepting my own bearness. I can still pretend, however. I can still take a few moments out of my day to hurl my claws into some dirt and pretend that I am a tree.

Even if I am just a bear.

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?

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

I do not know what a DJ is, and a squirrel pretending to be a bear attacked me.

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Recently, Rob (the squirrel) ran into my cave saying he had a new and exciting game for me to try that he had found in a dumpster while looking for wet pizza boxes to sleep in. I was intrigued. Though I knew what games were, I had never actually tried playing a game with someone else. I once stared at the mossy rock sitting in my cave for a long time until I fell asleep, and then I tried to do the same thing but longer for several nights afterwards. That was a fun game, but I was more just challenging myself than anything else.

Rob (the squirrel) said I had to try this game he found. It was called “The Raver and the Bear.” Rob (the squirrel) said I would love it because he knew how much I liked to rave, which I assume involves ravens. I have never met a raven, but I was immediately drawn to the “Bear” part of the game’s title. Had someone made a game specifically for bears? I was excited to find out.

Rob (the squirrel) would not let me see the rules of the game, insisting that I could easily follow his verbal instructions. He passed out several little squares of paper. Each one looked similar to this:

He then said I would be the DJ. I asked what a DJ was and he said they make noises and that was all I had to know to understand the game. Rob (the squirrel) then explained what we were to do with these little squares of paper. He hid his squares from my sight and said I had to guess the order of his squares by making the noises indicated on my squares. If I made my noises in the opposite manner in which he setup his squares, then he would violently attack me because he was pretending to be a bear and that is what bears do when they are mad, according to Rob (the squirrel).

I was upset by that notion. I did not attack everything that angered me. Yes, one time I pawed at a branch that I stepped on and I also maliciously chewed on it because it hurt my toes, but that kind of behavior is very rare for me.

Midway through addressing my grievances, Rob (the squirrel) announced the game had begun and commanded me to make the sounds indicated by my little squares.

I tried very hard to imitate the sounds on my squares, but they were difficult for me to pronounce and I was distracted by a knowingly evil glance from a trickster rodent.

Before I could get a grasp on the game, Rob (the squirrel) quickly mauled me and declared himself the victor.

He asked if I wanted to play again, but I was hesitant to say the least. The game certainly seemed interesting and fun, but like most organized events, it was easily ruined by an aggressive squirrel.

If you would like to try “The Raver and the Bear,” you can find it by clicking here. You can also ask a human named Colin about the game. I think he might know squirrels.

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?

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

Perhaps there are infinity bears?

Hello, I am a bear

Thank you for visiting this site. Please enjoy the comics, writings, and adventures of me, a bear. I am a bear.

Tag Archives: @a_single_bear

Birds as hats: a failed experiment.

The dumpster next to the broken fences: a food experience critique.

I think there might be too many leaves.

Hiding day.

The potentially wonderful but possibly nonexistent river bear.

Accepting snakes: why I want to but I cannot.

Branches and roots and bark and being a home for others: I want to be a tree sometimes.

I do not know what a DJ is, and a squirrel pretending to be a bear attacked me.

Perhaps there are infinity bears?