Tag Archives: humor

I think there might be too many leaves.

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bear leaves (2)

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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hiding (2)

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.

My smells: are they for everyone or just me?

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the stink (2)

I spent quite some time yesterday with my snout buried inside the crevices of fur between my claws. Past coming up for the occasional gulp of fresh air, I kept my face in the center of the smell consistently for a long time.

I liked it.

The smell, that is. I really liked it. The fur that is nestled there relaxes me and makes me feel good about myself, my fur, and my claws.

Rob (the squirrel), however, disagreed. Rob (the squirrel) approached me while I was enjoying the smells emitting from my feet, and he was quickly disturbed by the image. He aggressively asked me what I was doing and why I was doing it. I explained, and he asked if he could have a whiff as well. I did not see the harm in sharing such an intoxicating fragrance, so I let him smell the fur between my claws.

His eyes watered.

His face went sour.

He ran up a tree, nearly slamming his head into it as he recklessly escaped the odor of my feet.

I was hurt, honestly. Why did he find my foot smells so repulsive when I found them so delightful. I continued to smell my claw-fur for awhile before I decided to investigate why my smells might have upset Rob (the squirrel).

I had to question whether or not my nose was a good judge of a smell’s character. Just because I liked the smell of something, did that mean it was a universally beloved smell? Did that smell have any kind of popular opinion behind it? Did every creature experience smell in a unique manner?

I had to survey.

I first asked a raccoon in a dumpster I frequent if the fur between my claws smelled good. He was hesitant to try sniffing them, and, in the end, wound up biting them before running away. This was useful data for other questions I have about the forest (example: do raccoons like me?), but it did little in helping me understand my smell dilemma.

I decided to ask a longtime foe of mine for his opinion. I figured if the deer across the river had even the slightest interest in my smells, then those smells must be generally acceptable to all creatures who are not terrible, disgusting beasts and, therefore, Rob (the squirrel) was merely an odd exception.

The deer across the river told me my smells are as pointless as bears are. I then spent some time staring at him while sniffing the fur between my claws simply to spite him.

Finally, I tried testing my bear aromas on some mice who had slept under my belly that morning. Surely they found my belly fur smells enjoyable, so they must have something to say on the subject. They told me they were too consumed by the warmth of my belly fur to notice its smell. I offered them a chance to smell my  belly again just to get their opinions, but they slowly backed away from me in unison upon the suggestion.

I like my smells.

I know they might not be for everyone in the forest, but I do enjoy them. Perhaps we all have different ways of smelling, though, which should make me feel like I do not need the approval for my smells that I so desperately seek. But I still feel the need for that approval.

I hope you like my smells.

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.

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River bear (2)

The river I go to in the forest is a great mystery. I know a few things about it. It provides delicious water for me to drink. It has lovely, shiny pebbles at the bed of it. The river also delivers fish for me to stare at or eat or consider the lives of. I can swim in the river. I can sit in the river. I stare at what I presume is my face in the river. The deer rests by it, too, which I am not fond of, but I understand why he chooses to do so (beyond to taunt me).

I know these things about the river.

What I do not know, however, is where it comes from or where it ends up. It seems to move forever in both directions, so in the past, I have been far too intimidated to explore the river. Where would I start? Toward where the water goes or toward where it comes from? Do I want to know how it begins or how it ends? Should I just float in it and see where it takes me? Should I trek to the side of it, against where the water flows?

There were too many things to consider, so I never bothered to actually create a plan for exploration until very recently. When I did finally decide to explore, I was set on finding out where the river begins. I made this decision based off a theory I had developed involving a river bear at the mouth of the river. What if there is a bear at the end of the river from whom all the glorious water seeped? Imagine it. A massive bear with its mouth wide open, pouring rushing water to provide for the numerous creatures of the forest who depended on it.

My theory was based completely off a dream I had after taking a nap in a dumpster where I ate three wet pizza boxes, but I felt absolutely compelled to explore it and find out if it could be true. Even if it was not, just knowing what was at the beginning of the river would be satisfying enough to validate the trip.

So I started.

At first, I swam in the river, toward the flowing water. It was difficult but very fun. I also got a lot of water in my mouth and ears and eyes. That was less fun.

The journey continued on land. I stepped out of the river and walked beside the stream of water instead.

It was… boring.

It was very boring.

Before long, the sun had left and the moon had come and I was sleepy.

So I napped.

When I woke up, I was in the river (I am not sure how this happened), and I had floated all the way back to where I had started. I was startled to find the deer across the river staring at me, surely thinking of ways to end my life. I made a growl of discontent and got out of the river. Then, I went home.

In my cave, I napped again. I was hoping to dream about the river bear again, but I did not. Instead, I dreamed about floating down the river forever, enjoying the peace and soothing sounds of the water as I accepted not knowing anything about everything. Also, I am pretty sure the deer was the one who pushed me into the river while I was napping (I have no proof, but I feel this is accurate).

I woke up and ate some moss in my cave.

It was nice, and though I wish I could have met the river bear or at least found out if it existed, I was okay with where I ended up.

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

Accepting snakes: why I want to but I cannot.

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image1 (2)

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. 

PS

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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tree roots (2)

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:

noiseand sounds (2)

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

Why there are definitely ghosts in the forest and why you should be afraid of them and why I do not like them.

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Ghosts (2)

Why there are definitely ghosts in the forest:

The forest is a majestic and magical place full of wonder and incredible creatures, things, and places. I have lived in the forest for as long as I can remember, and even I am not to able explain every little nook, cranny, and strange occurrence that I encounter. For every amazing aspect of the forest that needs no explanation and only needs to be experienced, there are several aspects that are terrifying and mysterious in the most anxiety inducing manner possible.

That is why there are ghosts. The forest is amazing, of course, but all that amazement comes with a great degree of mystery. With so much mystery, there is no room for ever even questioning the existence of ghosts. Ghost definitely live in the forest, and they definitely come in all sorts of shapes, sizes, and species.

Many things can be ghosts, including but not limited to:

  • Deer (especially deer)
  • Rocks
  • Trees
  • Branches
  • Lizards
  • Owls
  • Anything underground
  • Possibly dirt
  • The moon, probably
  • Ghosts (ghosts of ghosts)

Conversely, many things cannot be ghosts:

  • Bears (probably)
  • Insects
  • Wait, maybe insects can be ghosts
  • Oh no, imagine the ghost ants!

Why you should be afraid of them:

The mere possibility of ghost ants should be enough for you to never want to engage with any type of ghost ever. There are other reasons, though. Ghosts will follow you for a very long time and make many scary sounds that you will not be able to identify so you will simply blame ghosts. They seem to enjoy this kind of behavior. It is a bit unfortunate and sad that most ghosts have nothing better to do but to haunt unsuspecting forest dwellers, but that is just part of being a ghost in the forest, I suppose.

Ghosts can also make you feel bad about yourself because you are not a ghost and you probably will not know if you could ever be a ghost (unless you are one of the things mentioned above that can definitely be a ghost and you have read this or other literature on the subject). Though ghosts are scary, who would not like to at least experience being a ghost in the forest? Being possibly barred from that experience while also being haunted by it is strange and quite terrible.

Why I do not like them:

I do not like ghosts because I cannot find definite evidence they actually exist like I can other things like rocks and trees and the sky. I know they exist, but, at the same time, I really do not know they exist, and that is something I find very maddening.

I am still researching the existence of ghosts in the forest, but it truly is a difficult assignment to take on given how scary of an assignment it is. I hope to one day find the evidence I need to reconcile with forest ghosts. Or, at the very least, I hope the raccoon ghost that has definitely probably been following me for the last few weeks stops and finds something better to do.

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 am going to pretend to be a bee.

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I am a bee (2)

Hello, I am a bee.

Living in the wherever bees live (maybe some kind of flower?) is great, and I have many observations of that environment, including other inhabitants of the same environment and neighboring environments. For example, I, probably, know many other flying insects. Those insects sure are fascinating to me, a bee, and I can relate to them because I, a bee, can also fly and am an insect.

I suppose I do not like dumpsters like most other creatures that exist, presumably. That is probably because I am a bee and bees are small.

Wait, I am a bee, so I am unaware that I am small because something being small is really relative to my size so I guess I am regular sized and maybe something like blades of grass are small?

I am am not small.

I am regular sized.

I have a stinger that I, for reasons that are unknown to me or anyone else for that matter, use to violently humiliate creatures that are much larger than I and were clearly just trying to enjoy a nap in a bushel and I did not mean to get so close to your hive, I am sorry and your stings are not necessary. Please do not sting me, bees. I mean, I should not sting things, me.

I live for a long time because there has been the same looking me going around for a long time so either every other bee looks exactly like I do or bees live for a very long time. I am an immortal bee?

I am a bee.

I like pollen?

Or make it maybe?

I am a bee, and I know all kinds of other bee things.

Like things about flying.

Flying is fun.

I think.

This is not working.

I am not a bee. I am a bear. I really thought that my limited experiences and encounters with bees (all mostly negative, but in my interpretation of their lives I was trying to give them the benefit of the doubt) would be enough for me to understand what it might actually be like to a bee. Upon trying to pretend I am a bee, I am discovering that my knowledge of the creatures is too limited for my portrayal to be at all authentic.

I am not a bee.

I really only understand bees as they are seen by me, a bear. Not even by all bears. Just me. And my experiences with bees have been limited to stings, buzzing sounds that scare me, and layers of pollen that I, admittedly, like to lick the skimming layer of as it gently rests on a still body of water like a puddle. These are mostly negative things with exception to the lovely pollen that also makes me sneeze so it can also be lumped into the bad category, I guess.

I do not want to write off bees, however. Maybe I should accept that, because of the way the forest is setup, bees and I can only, at best, coexist as we retain such a limited scope of understanding of one another.

I will simply have to accept the occasional sting and scary buzzing sounds.

Just as bees will simply have to accept me sleeping in bushels and being curious about their hives.

I hope we can both eventually learn from each other. About each other. I hope we can both not accidentally hurt each other.

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

Here is a list of things to figure out at night.

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night thinking (2)

A list of things to figure out at night:

  • Stars
  • Buzzing sounds
  • Dumpster mysteries
  • Opossum activities
  • Darkness of cave
  • Skinny trees emitting light
  • What crickets are up to
  • Why this skinny tree has some black lines coming from it
  • Maybe climb the skinny tree
  • Why there are so many metal splinters in this skinny tree
  • Where the moon goes
  • Where the sun goes
  • Keep climbing the skinny tree
  • Why nobody really fishes at night
  • Oh, it is hard to see the fish
  • You figured out the last one
  • That was a nice revelation
  • Get to the top of the skinny tree emitting light that has lots of tiny metal splinters on it
  • Why the night air smells better than the day air
  • Why it is not night all the time
  • Why it is not day all the time
  • Can you bite the black lines
  • Are they tree branches
  • Why is the grass wet in the morning
  • Why are you not covered in water in the morning
  • Raccoon activities
  • What tastes best at night
  • Not this black skinny tree limb that you are afraid to bite
  • But then again how would you know
  • Bite it maybe
  • It looks scary
  • Maybe do not bite it
  • Do not bite the skinny black limb of the skinny tree that emits light and has many metal splinters on it
  • Is this where the buzzing sounds are coming from
  • Why it is so easy to lose your balance at night
  • And fall
  • Out
  • of
  • the
  • skinny
  • tree
  • that
  • emits
  • light
  • and
  • has
  • many
  • tiny
  • sharp
  • metal
  • splinters
  • ow
  • Do not try to figure things out at night
  • Just sleep
  • It is not worth the risk

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, why not go see/listen to a song created by Emeric Viani inspired by the things Bear says/thinks: