Tag Archives: dumpsters

I saw a dirt-covered seagull.

seagull-2

Seagulls are rare in my part of the forest, but when I get deeper into the forest, past the clumps of trees I normally reside in and to the slabs of flat rocks and human caves, I sometimes run into a seagull. The last time I saw a seagull, it stared at me as it stood next to a few crows, chewing on some plastic bits it had fished out of a dumpster. It was a strange experience. It was missing feathers and had a twisted leg. It looked okay with both of those things. The bird’s dark, beady eyes glared at me while its empty face consumed its catch. I envied it, to be honest, as it so openly, without any indication of shame for its seemingly awful state of being, enjoyed a nice dumpster snack.

I saw another seagull today. I was trying to climb into a dumpster when it swooped from the sky (as birds with their aggressive nature tend to do) and landed on the corner of the dumpster I was climbing. My front paws were inside, but I stopped and stared at the seagull as the last seagull I saw had stared at me. It stared back. It was covered in dirt. Brown and grey crud covered its crooked feathers. Mud rested on its neck, dried and flaking off with every little movement it made. Its eyes were just as beady and as dark as any seagull I had ever seen.

I am not sure how long we stared at one another, but eventually the seagull broke the spell and flew off. I shook my head and tried to snap back into my reality. I climbed into the dumpster I was climbing into and did what I normally do in dumpsters: enjoyed myself with some scavenging and a long nap.

When I climbed out, the seagull was on the ground to greet me. I had no idea if it was the same seagull, but it was definitely covered in dirt and it smelled similar. My head was poking out of the dumpster, my paws hanging over the edge, when its glare stopped me as it had before. It was standing in a very thick, dark liquid. Confidently. Maybe proudly. We stared at one another again. This seagull was so unashamed just to be. I do not know how it did that. I have always been nervous to be. Being has always worried me, plagued my thoughts and forced me to rethink my being. I doubted this seagull even knew it was. Did this seagull even care that it was? That it existed? I was hard to tell.

It dipped its long, strange beak into the liquid, slurped some of it, and flew away.

This seagull was fine with being what it was.

I tried licking the black liquid after the seagull was gone and I had climbed out of the dumpster.

It burned and made me very upset.

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 Facebook.

Special dumpster days.

dumpsters-2

For the most part, there are not a whole lot of things to look forward to when it comes to living in the forest. Many things about forest living are difficult, and most of my time is spent trying to avoid being hungry and/or awake, and I would guess most creatures probably agree with me (unless they are deer since deer enjoy all the needless suffering that goes on all the time). Being in the forest is generally a moment-to-moment sort of existence, and even really thinking about what might happen next can be upsetting since it often does not happen (at least not the positive possibilities).

There is an exception, however. Once in awhile, when the dumpsters are nearly full and the plastic bags within them are beginning to rip apart, there comes a day when all the dumpsters around the forest are accompanied by even more dumpsters, smaller in size and different in shape but just as lovely as their bigger, differently shaped friends. They fill the tiny backspaces that are normally occupied by the dumpsters, and then all around everywhere I go I can see floods of various shaped and sized dumpsters, and it is so incredibly lovely.

The best time to go is at night, of course. You do not have to spend the entire evening searching and hunting for the perfect dumpster diving place, either. There are so many to choose from and they are so filled to the brim with treasures that it is actually easy to get one that you like. The bountiful amount of goods also leads to far fewer instances of raccoon/opossum attacks/hissing fits. There is just so much to go around that no creature even gets too upset when a his/her dumpster gets invaded. That creature just moves on to the next prize.

The only problem with nights like these are the human encounters. Humans, as I have established many times, are strange, loud creatures of the forest that mostly yell when they see you. I have been yelled at by many, many humans, and being yelled at scares me more than almost anything.

But even the human yelling fails to stop nights like these from being so absolutely enjoyable in every way imaginable. I have even caught myself, mid-dumpster diving, trash bag in my mouth, ignoring the shouts of the humans who wanted me to leave the dumpster I was in. I was so hypnotized by the allure of the smells and tastes and wonderfulness of the entire dumpsterscape, that no force, even the harsh, shrill voice of an angry human, could stop me from enjoying myself.

It is one of the few escapes from harsh forest life that is offered, and even though it does not seem to happen nearly as often as it should, I, and you should as well, enjoy every moment of it. It is the one thing to look forward to in the forest.

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.

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

raccoon-bag-2

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.

This place is strange.

Mall  (2)

This place is strange. There are so many humans milling about. They move like a river of arms and legs and faces down long narrow caves that branch out into smaller caves. Each of these caves is filled with different things. There are several caves housing fabrics of various colors and size. There are a few caves with things that light up and make noises (the humans love these things and look at them as they walk around). There is even a cave filled with dismembered, miniature versions of me (which are quite terrifying).

The humans feel the need to visit multiple caves in this place; some humans even visit every one of them. They are like ants marching through their hill. But instead of bringing food or resources to the caves within the hill to make their community better, the humans take things away from these caves. They leave carrying loads of bags and boxes filled with things they found (stole?). They chat with other humans (who are not there) on those things that light up and make noise about how they just found (stole?) a brand new version of the thing that lights up and makes noise.

It is all very confusing.

One human cub carries a recently reassembled version of me under her arm. She seems happy about it, until she sees the real me. Maybe I make her upset because I was not wearing a hat like the smaller version of me.

I do not know if I like this place, but I am starting to think this place does not like me.

Three humans with sticks yell at me. Other humans watch. It is quite humiliating.

I run for the exit (or what I think is the exit) and crash into fake, faceless, humans covered in furs and strange flat snakes around their waists. I try to leave again and tumble into a small table thing for serving hot, delicious nuts. The humans behind the table are not pleased, but I do not waste the intrusive moment, and I scoop as many pawfuls of nuts into my mouth as possible.

More humans with sticks show up. There are lights outside filling the massive, interconnected, human cave system with hues of blue and red.

I try to exit once more. This time it is successful. I find myself outside near the dumpster that led me here in the first place. The air is better outside than inside the human cave. To think I was almost trapped in there is a very upsetting thought.

Maybe all the humans milling about inside are trapped. Maybe they are being made to take things from those caves and forced to carry them around. I hope not. That would be quite sad.

At least I found some nuts. That was nice.

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.

I found a milk jug. Now what?

Milk jug (2)

Everything and everyone in the forest (as far as I can tell) seems to have a very overt, defined purpose. Trees are homes for creatures, fur scratchers for me, and generally great for the aesthetics of the forest. The river gives us water and a place to see ourselves in wavy reflections. Squirrels are entertaining at best and chaotic wild cards at worst (which also has its uses). Even the deer across the river has some purpose. I do not know what that purpose is, but I am sure there is one and I like to pretend it is not just to make me feel horrible about being near the deer across the river from time to time.

We all have a purpose in the forest, and we all interact with and play off of each others’ purposes. That is why it is so alarming when I come across something in the forest that seems to lack a discernible purpose (to me, that is).

Many strange things find their way to the forest (usually by way of dumpster treasures or humans (campsites and such)), and it can be difficult to figure out why these things exist.

The milk jug was a perfect example. I had no idea it was even called a milk jug until Rob (the squirrel) told me it was a milk jug. I asked him what it did, and he told me the name explained everything I needed know.

Milk jug.

So, naturally, I chewed on it. The milk jug certainly did a fine job at fulfilling the role of a thing to be chewed on, but (and I do not mean to sound too cynical or pessimistic here) that can be said of just about anything I can chew on (which is most things).

I decided to carry the milk jug with me to give it some more time to express its reasoning for its being or at least enough time for me to figure that out on my own. Later that day, in my cave, I sat with my belly pressed against the cool, moldy rock floor as I stared at the milk jug, waiting for it to explain itself.

It never did. It just sat there.

I took the milk jug to the river to see if a change in scenery could help inspire it to be the best possible milk jug.

When we arrived, we sat at the edge of the river, waiting.

Then I nudged the milk jug into the water. For a very brief moment, I was terrified that I might have just drowned the milk jug just to prove something about it to me, which was an absurd and horrible notion. In my panic, I jumped into the river to follow the milk jug, but I was surprised to find that it was able to float better than I could.

Maybe that was its purpose.

The deer across the river scoffed at me as this happened, which I pretended to ignore even though it made me feel bad about myself.

At the end of the day, I carried the milk jug back to where I found it: the dumpster near the sharp fence I dug a whole under so I did not have to climb the fence because it is sharp.

I am still not entirely sure why the milk jug exists and what it is for, but I figure that the place for it to do or be what it needs to do or be is its home.

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.

Sometimes raccoons pressure me into eating things.

demon raccoon

I like to eat most of the things I find. Leaves, cans, unidentified animal parts, flowers, leftover human things in human tents, human tents, sticks, air. Eating is one of my favorite things to do, so it is generally very easy to convince me to eat nearly anything. A raccoon I met recently proved to me there were exceptions.

It was in a dumpster behind a drug store where I found a plastic bag filled with a very dark liquid that smelled strange. I poked around it for a bit. I sniffed it. I tasted it. I even lapped a bit of the liquid into my mouth. It was sour and unpleasant. It was one of the first things I had found in a dumpster that I did not want to eat right away.

I turned around and walked away.

Right as my snout pointed toward the next direction I was going to scavenge for more eats, a raccoon startled me.

It stared me down.

It did not make a single sound.

Its bushy, striped tailed sprung up as it walked toward me. For some reason, I felt compelled to walk backward as it approached. I could have easily ignored the creature and ran into the forest, but something made me take a step back. And another step. And another. I kept creeping back as the raccoon walked nearer and nearer until my hind quarters smacked the dumpster I was originally walking away from.

The plastic bag was there. The raccoon saw it. She poked around it for a bit. She sniffed it. She tasted it. She even lapped a bit of the liquid into her mouth.

She kept lapping the liquid. Was it not sour and unpleasant to her? Why did this strange matter not bother the raccoon? Was she immune? Did she know something I did not?

Every question I had was interrupted when she turned her sharp looking face toward me with her teeth gritting, her wild sneer blinding my thoughts. She stared. I stared.

This inaction went on for a very long time. The hot sun baked the unpleasant liquid as exchanged intensity through our eyes.

Finally, the raccoon snapped her jaws around the plastic bag and dragged it toward me.

The hissing began.

I had no idea what she wanted at first. I tried to back away. More hissing. I tried to sit and continue the staring. More hissing. I tried to speak of my discomfort. More hissing.

After a great deal of trials and errors and mistakes and hissing, I figured out what the raccoon wanted.

I pushed my nose into the plastic bag. The hissing quieted. She continued to stare. I averted my eyes away from the bag and toward her. Light hissing. I put my face into the plastic bag. No hissing. The smell was awful. The taste was now sour and warm. It was terrible.

The raccoon kept staring, her glare keeping my brain frightened and my nose nestled in the bane of my senses.

Before long, the liquid was inside my belly, rumbling my insides and making me dizzy. It was gone, though. But so was the raccoon. I looked all around me, trying to figure out exactly what had happened here. Was she merely a figment of my imagination? Did my mind conjure an aggressive raccoon to make me experience something I shied away from? Why am I so afraid of raccoon hissing?

This experience left me questioning many things about my personality and what I know about the forest and its inhabitants. It also led to some of the most terrifying sounds my belly has ever made. But like with any experience, I did learn something. Raccoon sounds are fear-inducing demonic screeches that can drive you to insanity. I do like raccoons, though.

I am a bear.

“Boris the Bear’s Circus Adventure Extravaganza of Suffer for Lonely, No” is the latest adventure you can read on helloiamabear.com! Please enjoy!