Tag Archives: bears

I smashed the scary pumpkins because they probably had ghosts in them.

I like to stroll through the forest when the winds begin to cause cool breezes and the temperature becomes a nice kind of chill. It is a relaxing way to spend time in the forest, and such temperature and winds seem to only exist briefly between the anger of the sun and stunning cold of the snow. It is not here for long, so I like to enjoy it as much as I can. Sometimes my strolls go a bit far, however. It is easy to lose track where I am and how long I have been spending to get there. Recently, the stroll led to that strange part of the forest where the long, flat black rocks start to appear, cushioned by many human caves and far less trees. It is a strange place, and I try not to go there often (mostly because of all the yelling), but just today, I found myself happily traversing the strange area.

I should have run away when I first saw the pumpkin. I know that now, but something about its smell and its orangeness made me want to see it closer. There were so many of them around this part of the forest, too. I thought it was strange, and I thought it was stranger that all of these pumpkins had been mutilated. Holes had been cut into their thick skin (imagine what kind beast it would take to do that with such precision and power!). The first one I saw was very close to a human cave. I approached it, smelled it, and then tried to see what was inside of it (obviously). I pushed my paw through the holes that were already there, and, strangely enough, it was completely empty. There was nothing inside. I chewed on the thick skin of the pumpkin as I pondered the possibility. Why was this pumpkin empty? Were they always so empty? I had definitely seen pumpkins that were not empty before (mostly in dumpsters), so why was there nothing in this one?

I thought I should go see what other pumpkins nearby were like. There were so many to choose from.

The next one was not empty. I could see it from far away as I stood still on the long, flat black rock, staring at the strange glow coming from the pumpkin. I crept towards it. I had to know why it was glowing. Was there a tiny sun inside? It looked like the same color from a distance. Was the pumpkin angry? That was certainly possible.

When I got a paw’s length away, I batted at the pumpkin. I was cautious. Then, I decided to look through one of the strange holes it had, where the light was shining from.

Inside was a tiny ball of light.

It was bright.

It was scary.

I growled at it as I hurled my paw at it. Clearly, this pumpkin had some kind of pumpkin ghost sitting inside of it, and it was definitely trying to scare me. I smashed the pumpkin with my paws until a human ran out of its cave, yelling at me and swatting a long stick with pine straws on it at me. I tried to tell the human that I was just saving it and its cave from a pumpkin ghost, but the human refused to hear my pleas. It continued to swat at me until I left.

I ran back to my cave. I knew I had done the right thing, even if who it was for could not appreciate it.

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. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

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The acorns were not mine.

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When my belly is shouting at me to tend to it, using pain and anger to fuel my every decision, I cannot help but to eat nearly everything that comes into my sight. I have eaten some strange things, things that did not seem like food until I proved they were food. Crumpled leaves, fish skulls, anthills (including the ants sometimes), the wind (when it cooperates), things caught in the wind, basically everything inside any dumpster ever, sometimes the edges or corners of dumpsters, a bird once (more by accident and it was technically something that was caught in the wind (sorry, bird)). My mouth guides me on these occasions, and I become a furry ball of fury and teeth, claiming all chewable things as my meals.

Then I calm down.

It always happens.

I go off the edge while the hunger infects my very being, and then I fulfill whatever intangible thing causes me to be such a way, and then I calm down. Usually, when I calm down, I can look around, see the leftovers of the dumpster I was in, and move on with what happened. I ate some plastic bags filled with a dark liquid that smelled like burning? That is okay, I will move on. Oh, the tree I climb is missing a limb and my teeth hurt? That is okay, I will move on.

I was not able to move on recently.

I found a small cluster of acorns not very long ago. They were covered in leaves and pine needles and bits of dirt and my future shame and self-loathing. I smelled them from my cave. The wonderfully intoxicating aroma did not take long to pinpoint. With a small swipe of the claw, I was able to reveal the acorns. They were beautiful. They were delicious looking. They were delicious looking.

Without thinking, I hurled my jaws over the acorns and began to gobble them through my teeth and tongue and spit. In groups of two and three, I would go into the pile and further diminish the acorn reserve.

I ate them all.

When I calmed down, when I ceased to be the monster that I can so easily become, I realized that those acorns were not my acorns. That is probably true of most of the things I eat, of course. The dumpsters are not mine. The wind is not mine. The anthill is not mine. But something about this acorn collection, the way it was gathered so neatly and so beautifully, the way so many leaves and pine needles were so delicately placed and organized, it forced me to know they were not mine.

Someone was saving these acorns.

Someone was probably saving these acorns for when the hunger, the vicious, angry little beast that it can be, would infest their being. And when it happens to them, they will not have the comfort of an acorn reserve to soothe them.

Who knows what they might do.

I might have made a monster.

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. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

Follow @a_single_bear

Special dumpster days.

Something happened to the eggs I found.

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Today, I found some little eggs and put them on a soft pile of dirt and stuff in my cave and put leaves on top of them for warmth. I liked them all. They were all very similar looking but somehow also all unique in their own ways. I spent the day watching over the eggs, studying their tiny, minute differences and trying to understand where they were from and where they were going. I also named them. Trashcan was the one with the tiny scratch mark on the bottom half of the oval. Pinecone was, in my opinion, the pointiest one. And Tree was the most charismatic one.

I liked all of the eggs I found, and I had a great day getting to know them until very recently when something very terrible happened to them.

I had left my cave for awhile to enjoy the cool winds that were gliding through the forest. After letting my fur get a nice puffy aesthetic, I decided to go back to my cave to check in on my new responsibilities.

That is how seriously I was taking getting to know my eggs. See? I even called them my eggs. I expected these eggs to be a crucial part of life, even after having known them for just a morning. I had plans and visions of me taking care of them and ensuring their egg-ness for as long as eggs happen to be eggs. I was excited. I was looking forward to my life with the eggs.

When I got back to my cave, one was broken.

Trashcan was split asunder, his top bits spread about the tiny nest I had made. His gooey innards were spread about the nest. I was horrified.

My initial investigation led me to a theory involving ghosts. Nothing else made sense. But then Pinecone began to tremble. The ghosts were about to strike again, I initially thought.

Before I could ask Pinecone what was wrong, a bird swooped into my cave. It shrieked at me and pecked at my eyes and bit me and made me really upset. Then the bird grasped Pinecone and flew off.

I was so traumatized by what was going on that when I looked at Tree, it took a moment to realize that she, too, was trembling and shaking violently. I sat, shaken from the loss, and stared at Tree.

A tiny, featherless bird burst through the egg, sending shards of egg all about the nest. It made weak sounding chirps.

I knew then that I was fooling myself by coveting the eggs and hoping they would never do what eggs always do: burst into tiny birds and reptiles.

The large bird swooped in once more. With less pecking and shrieking, it grabbed Tree’s innards (a tiny bird) and flew away.

I have had a difficult, weird day.

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. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

Follow @a_single_bear

Something yelled at me today.

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There many very scary things that populate the forest and cause a steady stream of anxiety and nervousness all the time. Spiders? Sure. Lots of spiders? Absolutely. Snakes? Always? Lots of snakes? It is guaranteed. Ghosts? Likely.

The list is unfathomably long and frustrating, and it makes me wonder how I, or any creature for that matter, manages to go about the forest on a daily basis without curling into a ball and weeping until all of the terror is gone even though the terror can never be gone so the curling and weeping would last indefinitely. I suppose it is something we have to accept and adapt to, but that does not make it any more pleasant.

At least when it comes to spiders and snakes and ghosts I get some kind of warning. I see the snake before I run from it. I feel the spider in my fur before I jump around and try to shake it off. I think I might be able to smell ghosts (not fully tested yet) before they go about their hauntings and whatnot. One of the more terrifying things about the forest does not give you sufficient advanced notice, however. It jumps at you and surprises you and makes everything feel terrible. It pierces your ears and ruins your relationship with whatever is the source of it. It is terrible and horrifying and I do not like it.

Being yelled at.

Nobody likes being yelled at, but that does not stop many things from yelling at many other things. I have been yelled at by trees, wind, humans, raccoons, opossums, falling rocks, snapping twigs, a very determined bee, and several pointy leaves.

I hate it.

And I never get used to it. It makes me feel small and helpless, and I immediately begin considering how I can not be yelled at. I run. I always run from yelling. It is the best option I know about, and, no matter how long I think about it, I cannot come up with a better way to handle being yelled at.

I have, for a very long time, figured that being the yeller must be pleasant. So many things yell at me, and they must all have a reason for doing so. They have to get something out of it.

I tried to yell at something today.

I did not know what to yell at. I did not want to yell at another creature or a tree or the sky because I did not want them to not like me and think I was angry at them or force them to try to eat me. So I decided that yelling at nothing was the best place for me to practice my yelling.

I sat in my dark cave. I stared at the darkness. The nothingness of it all. Here was a place to yell. Here was a place to let out a yell that had to have been boiling within, long awaiting to retaliate for all of the forceful yelling I had endured.

I let it out.

I yelled.

And then the cave yelled back and I whimpered and I ran and I have no idea if it was actually the cave or something inside the cave but either way I am not going back to my cave until daylight or until I know that the yelling will be stopped forever, please do not yell at me anymore cave, please, or whatever yelled at me, please, I am so sorry for yelling.

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. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

Follow @a_single_bear

Things possibly related to something probably very important that I might have forgotten or maybe not.

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What thing did I forget that is probably related to the following list of various things that might be the details of the thing I might have forgotten probably?

A dumpster
Muddy, slippery ground
I slipped in some mud?
Feelings of inadequate height
The dumpster might have been taller than I am, and I do not like that about dumpsters because they are very difficult to climb into?
At least one baby raccoon
A very ripped up blue plastic bag
The raccoon was maybe inside the very ripped up blue plastic bag?
Lots of screeching
So much screeching
It hurt my ears, I know that
The moon looking very judgmental
The moon did not say anything, I doubt, but it looked very judgmental probably
Handling very fragile things
Moving things with my teeth, which are not very good for handling very fragile things
Moving very fragile things with my teeth even though I know that handling very fragile things with my teeth is not a great idea
Maybe the bag was fragile?
Maybe the baby raccoon inside the bag was fragile?
Oh, there are faint memories or even more screeching
It is difficult to stress just how much screeching there was
The baby raccoon was definitely contributing to the screeching
I think wanting to find a place for something was involved, but I do not know
Finding a very warm place to rest my face in my cave because I wanted to be warm
But I always want to be warm?
I think I found the baby raccoon in the blue bag
I was definitely very hungry during all of whatever this was
But I am always very hungry?
I wanted to help the baby raccoon
And it was inside a plastic blue bag and screeched a lot
The moon was just so judgmental
Why were you so mad at me, moon? What had I done to you?
So maybe it was night
That seems reasonable
The screeching is in my mind, though
And that baby raccoon
Oh no
I remember now
I had to find a warm place for that baby raccoon I found in the dumpster because it was very clearly very upset about being inside the dumpster and I think I left the blue bag and the baby raccoon in my cave
Oh no, the bag is still in the corner of my cave but the baby raccoon is not
Um
There is no baby raccoon anywhere
I checked all around my cave
And all over the place
Um
Well
Oops
I hope it is okay
It is, right?

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. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

Follow @a_single_bear

Sky tantrums.

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The forest and the sky above it can get very angry on occasion, the past few days have exhibited that anger a great deal. Furious winds swept through trees and pulled branches and leaves and sharp rain cut through the dirt of the forest floor, turning it into untraversable plots of gritty mud. From my experiences, this kind of sky tantrum is common when the temperature of the forest climbs down from its summer tower and begins to calm itself leading into the more humble autumn. I have been through a great deal of sky tantrums myself, and I know all creatures in the forest have their own ways of handling these events.

Most creatures, particularly the tinnier ones, tend to hide under logs, rocks, human caves, dumpsters, and other creatures to protect them from the unnecessary anger of the wind. How birds carry themselves through sky tantrums is a bit of a mystery. I have never seen a bird successfully fly during one, but I also rarely see them perched among trees, their alternative to their routine flying. Maybe they hide with the other creatures? Maybe all birds crash into trees during these sometimes terrifying acts of the forest and then new birds are born from the remains the very next day? I hope that is not the case. That would be strange/scary.

I like to walk through it for as long as I can. I squint my eyes and grit my teeth and dig my claws into the ground as I make one laborious step after another. It feels refreshing to do this right after a blazing summer day, and there is something freeing about letting the rushing wind toss through my fur, despite knowing that at any moment that same wind could turn on me and hurt me.

That actually happened during this particular sky tantrum. The wind carried a very large, very pointy, very unsafe branch from a tree and hurled it directly at my face/ears/nose. It was not a pleasant feeling, and, for the briefest of moments, I thought I had met my end to the vengeful acts of the violent wind (I certainly do not blame the branch as it must have been just as terrifying for it to be carried so forcefully by the wind). It hurt, and as soon as I processed what was going on and realized that I was still a bear and not no longer a bear, I galloped back to my cave. I carried the branch with me. I was certain it, too, needed protection. From there, I rested on a cold rock and watched the water from the rain continue to attack the forest floor throughout the night, occasionally gnawing at my guest branch, which might have been rude but I never asked. It would be fun to nap in some of the puddles tomorrow, I thought to myself, and then I continued to chew on the branch.

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. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

Follow @a_single_bear

How to find, approach, and handle human caves.

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How to find, approach, and handle human caves:

Begin by finding where a human smell is coming from (dumpsters are good places to start)
Follow human smell (again, dumpsters and humans have many aromas in common)
Once a human smell is pinpointed, assess the area
You will likely see a large structure made out of rocks or mutilated trees, these are human caves
Instead of being inside of something like most caves, human caves have many sides, making finding an entrance difficult
Follow the sides of the human cave until you happen upon a more decorated mutilated tree (humans probably hate trees (there is no way to tell why (maybe trees did something mean to them)))
Begin scratching, clawing, biting, pressing heaviest side of body against the decorated mutilated tree
Repeat until decorated mutilated tree is ajar or
I broke the decorated mutilated tree
I hope the humans do not mind
Upon entering a human cave, begin searching for more smells similar to dumpsters
These smells are generally found in another tiny cave that is cold and kept inside the human cave (a cave within a cave)
Repeat decorated mutilated tree process to second tiny cave to gain entrance
Once tiny cave inside large human cave is here, begin eating things that are causing dumpster smells and all other smells that are also interesting to you
Ignore the sounds of aggressive stepping as you continue eating from the tiny second cave, they probably belong to a jealous raccoon
Ow
Please
Stop throwing things at me
Please
Ow
Ouch
Ooooooo
My ears
Please
That thing was pointy
Begin to leave the premises of the second tiny cave if a human seems aggravated by your perusal of it
Sit on this comfortable, lumpy soft thing instead
Ow
Please
Humans do not like it when you sit on their comfortable lumpy things either
Consider leaving the human cave upon the appearance of humans
Why
I am leaving, please stop
Ow
Try to fix the mutilated decorated tree you broke when you entered the human cave
It seems very heavy
Ow
Humans might hit you with more and different types of mutilated trees (pole one with straws on it hurts)
Try to reason with humans if they get too hostile
Why would they keep throwing things at me when I am simply trying to explain to them that I did not mean to break their mutilated decorated tree entrance
Consider complimenting the humans for having a cave that smells like a dumpster (very high praise)
Ouch
The last thing they threw sounded sharp
Leave
Leave the human cave
They clearly do not want you there
They are running after you
Run
Go back to your cave and sleep on the collection of mold covered rocks you have that do not smell like a dumpster but are still very nice to be around
Do not approach or handle or even find human caves

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. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

Follow @a_single_bear

Birds and their shadows and the tricks they play.

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Shadows are an insane mystery in the forest. I know pretty much everything has a shadow, and I know that, generally, that shadow relates to the sun in terms of where it is when you see it, but I have no idea why they are there and what they are planning. For a long time, I was convinced that it was possible to fall inside of them (this came from a misunderstanding I had during a brief encounter with a mole). That is not the case, though. They just make some parts of whatever they are resting upon (the ground, other things, your face) darker for no real reason.

If you pay attention to shadows, though, they can help you manage your awareness of your immediate surroundings. That can be helpful. There have been many times where someone was trying to sneak past me and into my cave to probably take my collection of mold covered rocks, and I caught them because of the elongated shadow that was hurled from them onto the rocky floor. My collection of mold covered rocks owes a lot to shadows. That might be why they exist in general: to help protect my lovely rocks.

Not everyone in the forest uses shadows for good, though. I have, on far too many occasions, accidentally thought the shadow of a bird was something much larger than a bird that was definitely planning on eating me. I do not want to be eaten. Ever. So when I see something that seems like it might want to eat me, I do what any creature probably does when that threat hovers over them: I ran, the whole time staring at the thing that probably wanted to eat me, and crashed into a tree.

Each time this scenario has played out, I have looked all around only to find that a bird in the sky was casting the shadow onto the ground from up high. I know I should have learned my lesson by now, but it is hard to think rationally when you are completely convinced that something is going to eat you.

I do not think it is the same bird, either, as when I have looked up to see the bird playing such a cruel trick against me, it has always been a different color. This has forced me to consider if this is some kind of collaborative ruse crafted by a hateful group of birds. If so, what do they want from me and why do they want it and why can they not find some other way to hurt my feelings other than to make me feel like I am about to be eaten?

I have tried asking a bird, but I have never gotten an answer that did not involve the senseless chirping they are so known for.

For now, when I see a shadow, I have to assume the worst possible scenario: something wants to eat me. If I do not, then something might catch me off guard and actually eat me. Perhaps birds are trying to eat me?

Have birds grown so hostile and bold?

Should I stop making fun of their chirping sounds and accidentally sitting in their nests because they are so comfortable?

Please do not eat me, birds.

Please.

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. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

Follow @a_single_bear

The deer across the river pushed me into the river.

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The deer across the river pushed me into the river.

I did not actually see this happen, but I am absolutely sure it was him. Who else could act so aggressively and maliciously against everything that I am? I do not mind being in the water, but to be suddenly (and without my consent) placed into the river? No. That is not good, and I do not like it, and I am so very angry at the deer across the river and how vile of a creature he truly is.

I am sorry.

I do not mean to come off so flustered, but this was a very bad experience for me. I smelled an interesting and strange smell coming from what was probably a bug or a leaf or maybe a neat rock across the river where I usually get water and look at my reflection. It was coming from where the deer across the river usually stands, mocking me with his knowing glances and horrible demeanor. Against my best interests, I decided to go to the interesting smell. I knew the risk: the deer could be there at any moment, and surely an experience with him would be incredibly upsetting. I liked the smell of whatever was there, though, and I was willing to risk a chance encounter with the deer to smell such a lovely smell up close.

I swam across the river and climbed onto the ground. My paws got muddy as I hurled my wet nose into the soil, searching for the smell I had caught from across the river. I followed the lovely aroma to a tree that leaned toward the river. On one of the lowest branches of the tree sat a bug. I climbed to it, ignoring the tiny cracks of the tree that begged me not to. I told myself I would not spend too much time on the tree, so the cracking sounds could be ignored. I breathed in heavily to fill the insides of my bearness with the smell of this fascinating bug. I did this for awhile, and I was not interrupted by the deer during this crucial smelling experience (at least I can thank him for that, I suppose).

The bug flew away eventually. When it did, It was time to go back to my side of the river, and I cautiously climbed back down to the ground, trying not to bend the branch anymore than I already had. I was surprised the deer was not around yet, but I accepted my luck and approached the river.

Right as I tossed my first paw forward toward the water, I felt a rough jab against my backside. I slipped on the muddy ground and catapulted toward the river. With an embarrassing, enormous splash, I crashed into the water. My ears were instantly filled with water and anger as I desperately paddled my front paws to get to the surface. I knew who was behind this villainous act before my snout got to fresh forest air. The deer across the river. He stood where I had fallen. Beside him laid a broken branch. Surely it was his weapon of choice to commit this atrocity. He had even chosen the branch I had used to comfortably enjoy the smells of a new bug/possible friend. It was cruel. I made desperate growling sounds toward him as he puffed out his lips and made whatever you call the awful sounds deer make when they make sounds (it sounds like coughing but somehow more sickly and depressing).

I got back to my side of the river. I stared at him until my fur began to dry. I wanted him to apologize for what he did, though I knew that would be impossible. I would settle for an admission to guilt, but I never got one. After some more hacking/coughing, the deer walked away. He left his weapon behind.

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. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.

Follow @a_single_bear

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: bears

I smashed the scary pumpkins because they probably had ghosts in them.

The acorns were not mine.

Special dumpster days.

Something happened to the eggs I found.

Something yelled at me today.

Things possibly related to something probably very important that I might have forgotten or maybe not.

Sky tantrums.

How to find, approach, and handle human caves.

Birds and their shadows and the tricks they play.

The deer across the river pushed me into the river.