Tag Archives: I am a bear

I worry about what I look like when I run.

Bear running (2)

I run when I need to run. It has its uses, running that is. For instance, just the other day I saw a tree with no leaves on its branches and its twiggy limbs were smacking up against another tree that did have leaves, ripping the leaves from the leaved tree. I thought I saw a tree murder in progress and, though I am ashamed to admit it, I felt the need to run as fast as I could. I was lost in the forest all night after running aimlessly for so long, but at least I got away from the tree murder.

I also sometimes run when I have bursts of energy for no apparent reason. It feels good to stretch out my legs and feel the wind brush through my fur. And even though I feel tired when I am done, I feel quite refreshed shortly after running.

I actually like to run.

But I do not like doing it in front other creatures…

I was recently running through the forest after thinking an interesting looking rock I found was actually a ghost when I suddenly heard a chuckling. I looked toward the sound to find several squirrels (oddly none of them Rob (the squirrel)) staring at me and laughing hysterically. I stopped mid-gallop and stared back. They were heckling me. At least five squirrels. All heckling me. One even did an impression of me by placing its back end high into the air and shuffling its front legs frantically. The other squirrels laughed at the impression. One laughed so hard it fell out of the tree.

I did not stay much longer to see the crowd further analyze my running. I trudged (at a very slow pace) back to my cave to lick my wounds.

The heckles haunted my dreams that night. I had a dream about one large squirrel poking me with a stick as I tried to run, but when I looked down, I had no legs. No paws. No way to run. Instead, I rolled through the forest as the squirrel kept poking and stabbing me.

I woke up growling and shuffling my feet… frantically.

Now I am consistently worried about how I look as I run through the forest. I even find myself not running from time to time, even when I really want to. What if the squirrels are watching? What if other creatures are watching? What if I really do look silly as I run?

I do not like running as much now. I want to run. I want to like to run. But the constant fear of not running how I am supposed to run keeps me from doing what I want to do.

Maybe one day I can see another bear run. Maybe the example could show me how it is really supposed to be done. Maybe I can learn to like running and maybe I can learn to run how a bear is supposed to run or maybe those squirrels will just leave me alone.

Or maybe I will just walk from now on.

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

Please do not scream at me.

Screaming (2)

There are many things that scare me: loud, unidentifiable sounds; loud, identifiable sounds; not being a bear; being too much of a bear; loud, angry opossums; fish who have sharp teeth; the idea of trees possibly ending one day and me having to understand a forest without trees and considering maybe it would be easier to see everyone from a distance but then again maybe it is nice not being able to see everyone from a long distance; drowning; hunger; Rob (the squirrel) (please do not tell him).

I could go on.

And I will for a moment: birds that stare at me aggressively; tents collapsing on me while I am sifting through them; possible anti-bear sentiments that various woodland creature or maybe even rocks hold but are not vocal about while I am in their presence; rocks maybe not liking me; overthinking rocks; disrespecting rocks by considering my analysis of them “overthinking”; not having fur; getting trapped in a dumpster.

There is one thing I really do not like, however. Something that bothers me more than any other fear or anxiety I have. A thing that makes me worry about leaving my cave in the morning.

That thing is other things screaming at me.

High pitched, loud shouting sounds coming from any being and directed toward me makes my fur stand up straight and my back shiver. It fills my mind with unease and worry.


Do not scream at me.

The strange thing about my burdensome worry is that I have only been screamed at by a few things just a handful of times.

Once, a tree and the sky screamed at me practically at the same time. I was out in the woods, licking a rock, when the sky made a terrifying, violent screaming sound. Before I could even process how terrified I was, a tree right by me began to scream too. Then it fell over.

I ran.

I ran as fast as I could to my cave and hid there until I napped.

I still do not know why the tree and the sky screamed at me in such a manner. Maybe they did not like the way I was licking that rock. Maybe they did not like me. I do not know, but it upsets me to no end.

A human screamed at me once, too.

I once found and explored a large, strange object near a dumpster I frequent. At first, I thought the object was just a large rock, but I could smell some kind of delicious food within the rock. I looked for an entrance or some kind of opening. After some searching, I found a way into the rock. It was not a rock, though. It was actually a cave. A well lit, strangely decorated cave. This cave was amazing. It had a tiny, personal sun inside of it. It also lacked rabbit skeletons and, instead, had various colors plastered all around the walls of the cave. This cave was fascinating.

And it had food!

There was another, much tinier, cave inside this large cave and it was filled with food! I started to rummage through the tiny cave. It was more bountiful than any dumpster I had ever encountered.

Then, the screaming began.

A human was hurling loud, high pitched screeching sounds at me and making very aggressive hand gestures at me.

I was more terrified than when the tree and the sky screamed at me.

Again, I ran.

I ran to my cave.

It did not have food or lovely colors or caves inside of caves, but it also did not have anything screaming at me.

I still worry about screaming. Though it so infrequently happens, I still have anxiety about it and feel like it could happen again at any moment. I sometimes try to think about why those things screamed at me. Why make awful sounds at me that just scare me? Did I deserve those sounds? I have no idea. Was I merely misinterpreting these sounds? Were they not even directed toward me or about me? I do not know.

But I do know the sounds. I do know how much I hate them. And I do know I do not want them to happen to me again.

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

Am I too much bear?

bear echo (2)

Am I too much bear? Does my bearness have a maximum capacity that I sometimes overflow with fuzziness and sniffing dirt and eating acorns and rolling in grass (you know, bear things)? It is hard to say. I often feel that I am exactly the right amount of bear. While my weight seems to fluctuate according to sticks I like to step on, perhaps measurements of bearness cannot be collected in common physical data. Maybe bearness is something intangible. A feeling you can’t put your paw on.

I took to surveying some fellow forest dwellers to get their input on my bearness. The results were mixed, as one would expect.



‘You are a bear…I suppose a bear of an acceptable size. Does that answer your question? No? Then I don’t know what to tell you. I’m going back to digging. Sorry I couldn’t help.’

Rob (the squirrel):


Rob (the squirrel) replied with that strange barking sounds squirrels make and scurrying up a tree. Then he threw an acorn at me, but I dodged it. This seemed to frustrate him so he ran away. I am still trying to interpret this answer.



‘If I tell you, I will need a favor in return. You have to promise. I’ll give you all the info you want regarding your own bearness, but there is something you much help me with. Agreed? Good. Shake on it…’

Apparently my bearness was too much for the rabbit. He stopped talking (and moving) after our pawshake. I even waited for a long time for him to say or do anything again. Nothing. I suppose I bored him.

Another Rabbit:


‘I’d love to answer your existential question but I’m in quite some rush. A friend, and I use the term “friend” loosely, stole a rather impressive gathering of apples I had amassed in my burrow and hid them from me.’


‘Sure I can tell you what he looked like. He looked like me. Long ears, furry tail, etc. Seen him? No? Okay, well if you do, you come find me. Thanks.’



‘Hhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeccccccccccccccc  Hisssssssssssss Rrrrrrgrgrrgrgrgrg Heeeeeeeeececeecec.’

I probably should not have asked my question while the opossum was in a dumpster.




I probably should not have asked my question while the raccoon was in a dumpster.



Unfortunately, the dumpster did not have a verbal or physical response. It was actually a nice change of pace compared to the hissing.

The sky:


‘Am I too much bear bear ear r r r’

The sky, too, did not have an understandable response, but I did hear my echo in the vastness of its everything above. As my words bounced off the sky and spread as far my ears could hear, all throughout the forest, I realized that the degree of my bearness is actually irrelevant compared to just about everything else in the forest. This is why I received few revealing responses. Nobody is worried about me being a bear or how much of a bear I am. Only I am worried about such things. Only I care about my bearness. It is a little sad to realize how small I am even when compared to the daily thoughts and opinions of (physically much smaller) woodland creatures. I suppose my self-important questioning deserved the hisses it mostly received. I want my being a bear to mean something, to be important on some grand forest scale, but it just is not.

It is a relief, too, though. There is no huge role to fulfill or some grand journey to pursue. I am just a bear. There is not much more to the idea than that.

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 stepped on something crunchy.

bear paw

It is difficult for me to take the time needed to understand everything happening beneath my paws. As I walk through the forest, I surely step on many different living things: bugs, grass, dirt, glass bottles, and tiny sticks. All of these things are smashed and smeared by the tough, rugged skin on the bottom of my paws. Most of the time, I can deal with ignoring the sounds of these unfortunate beings, but sometimes they crawl through my ears and take unforgiving space in my mind.

Recently, I finally stopped to see what I could do about my intrusive paw stomping. As I left my cave, I took one step on the grassy ground and then immediately stopped. I then hurled my nose into the meeting place of my being and the ground. I searched for any living things. I shouted to all possible survivors, asking them to make some kind of sound to indicate that they were okay with my paw being here. I even asked the dirt that was being dug up by my claws how it was doing.

No response.

Not a single sound came from that tiny section of earth. For a moment, I deducted that I had just been overanalyzing everything about this situation. Nothing on the ground minds me being on the ground, too, I told myself.

I went on about my day.

A few paces later, I stopped in my tracks again and realized: the silence of the forest floor might have been caused by me. Of course no creatures made any sounds upon my request, I had been the one who silenced them all.

I ran back to the entrance of my cave and began to search for that first step of the day. As my paws slammed against the ground to make my way back to the origin of my destructive path, I mumbled apologies and begged for forgiveness. I even tried to keep my feet in my old tracks as to minimize the overall damage, an ultimately pointless effort as I ended up breaking several different plants by accident, not to mention the countless bugs and other lifeforms I likely disturbed or destroyed.

When I got to my first paw print, I hurled my nose into the dirt once more. I wanted to know what kind of mark I had left. Was it repairable? Did it leave the natives of that patch of dirt in disarray? Was I a monster? Did I need to spend the rest of my days in my cave, never stepping into the forest again? Could I live in trees instead? Would the trees mind that? Of course they would, they are trees and deserve to be left alone.

I could not find anything beyond the smashed dirt. I definitely killed the dirt in that part of the forest, but killing dirt to get by was something I had accepted a long time ago. I could not see any bugs, plants, or other creatures whom I had destroyed by accident.

I want to live as peaceful of an existence as I can. I know sometimes I will eat some bees or accidentally sit on a bird’s nest that got knocked down from a tree (I am so sorry, bird eggs), but I have to keep trying to ensure that my existence cooperates with everything else that exists in the forest. Everything (except for the deer across the river) deserves to live without being stepped on by something much larger than it. I hope dirt does not mind us all killing it all the time, but maybe that is how dirt lives its own peaceful existence.

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?

Fuzziness matters.

rubs (2)

Fuzziness is an important aspect of who I am and how I see myself as an individual creature of the forest. My ears are fuzzy. My belly is fuzzy. My neck is fuzzy. Even my paws are fuzzy, which is strange considering they are also leathery and tough. Paws are strange, but we are not here to discuss paws. We are here to discuss fuzziness.

How do I maintain the fuzziness of my fur? This is an important question for any creature who is given the gift of a thick coat of lovely hairs. I cannot speak for all creatures of the forest, but my fuzziness is maintained through a regiment of important daily processes.

Allow me to elaborate.

I spend a great deal of time every single morning rubbing my fur onto something with an interesting texture. Sometimes I seek out the smooth edges of a pebbles to help slick back my fur. Other times I look for something jagged and scratchy like the side of a tree or the side of a rusted dumpster. These rough textures also help alleviate various itches I might feel at the base of my fur. They ruffle my fur, too, making my fuzziness much more messy than usual, but the feeling of the means are worth the awkward looking ends.

I once dragged an old, ragged piece of a carpet I found into my cave. I spent a great deal of time rubbing all of my fur against it. It was one of the best things I had ever found in a dumpster, and I loved every minute I spent with my fur practically glued to its surface. Unfortunately, I eventually had to dispose of that prize after several raccoons ate most of it. I stopped them from completely devouring it, but what was left was hardly enough to maintain my fuzziness.

Water is also important part of fuzziness. Though fur smells incredible after rolling around and basking in many weeks’ worth of forest odors, it is occasionally nice to refresh and revitalize that fur with some clear, cool river water. At first, it seems counterintuitive. When fur is wet, it ceases to have fuzziness. It becomes drenched and loses everything that defines fuzzy. Once the water dries, however, the fuzziness feels crisp, clean, and brand new. I do this process minimally, though. I have a great deal of pride in the collection of smells and debris I collect as I traverse through the forest, and I do not take lightly the idea of trading all of that in just for some wet fur.

Furthermore, this process also means having to see the deer across the river. Oh, how vile that creature is with its ghastly, empty stare. It knows what it did. It will never forget what it did. I will never forget what it did.

I apologize for the digression.

Another great way to maintain fuzziness is to seek out a symbiotic relationship with another creature and/or find a very good friend. For a very long time, no less than three mice (one large one and two tiny ones) resided in a tuft of fur on my back. Their warmth and tiny hands soothed and combed my back fur. I did not let them go uncompensated, too. As often as I could, I would toss small berries or patches of grass onto the tuft by slinging them with my mouth. This beautiful relationship lasted until the tiny mice outgrew the large mouse. They ended up arguing and fighting over the rations of berries and grass. The quarrels became so terrible that their violent squeaks would keep me up at night. I finally evicted them from my body lying on my side and shaking. They quickly scattered into the forest, which was unfortunate because I would have liked to at least formally meet them before they left for good.

I sometimes ask other forest creatures if they would be willing to fill in where the mice left off, but I can find no takers. Those relationships are rare, so if you are lucky enough to find one, make sure you nurture it to the best of your abilities.

Fuzziness matters. It is not simply an issue of aesthetics either. How my fur interacts with my environment says a lot about who I am, and I truly hope all other creatures of the forest take their fuzziness as seriously as I 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?

Do not yell at trees.

tree bear

You should not yell at trees for many reasons. First, and most importantly, they do not like it. While they have never vocalized this, I am eighty-four percent certain it is not a pleasant experience for them. Would you like to be yelled at? Of course not, and you are not even a tree.

If you would, for just a moment imagine being a tree: You are in the middle of a great forest surrounded by your brothers and sisters. A network of wildlife uses your body as a home and/or food source. You produce offspring and help the forest grow denser. You give shade to those who are too large to inhabit you. Some animals use you to mark territory or get rid of waste. Humans often deface you with strange carvings or, in horrible situations, try to take you out of the forest in cylindrical slabs. You have no defense mechanisms, but you must be strong at all times.

Despite being quite impressive and majestic, you are under constant duress to be something to everything.

Now that you are an imaginary tree and can empathize with the plight of trees, picture someone yelling at you. Perhaps your leaves were blown off your branches (something you had no control over) and they landed somewhere someone did not want them to land. Maybe your sap got on someone’s fur. Maybe someone just does not enjoy the texture of bark. Now, how would you feel if this hypothetical someone yelled at you for any of these reasons? Would you need that sort of pressure on top of all the other things you have going on in your life? Of course you would not.

The act of yelling at trees is simply pointless. It does not accomplish anything. You might think that yelling at a tree could be cathartic, but it does not make you feel any better. I know from first-paw experience.

I once tripped and tumbled, head first, into the base of an oak tree. Once I got to my feet, I loudly growled at the tree and asked why it felt the need to strike me. After a moment of silence, I felt ashamed for blaming the tree for my misfortune. After all, I was the one who tripped and tumbled. The tree had always been there. The same place. A constant for the forest. I was the one running about, causing unpredictable chaos. I tripped because of me.

What could I have expected from the tree anyway? If the absurd assumption that the tree was at fault was even remotely true, what could the tree do? No tree has never apologized (not that an apology from a tree has ever earnestly been needed), and this tree was not about to be the first to do so. My whiny howling did not deserve any response beyond what it received: just silence (or just the soft rustling of leaves in the wind).

Rob (the squirrel) once told me he yelled at a tree. He claimed that a tree had tried to run him over while he was crossing a street. I had no idea how or why a tree could or would do that. I also was not completely sure what a street was, but I did know that no tree could ever intentionally, upon its own will, do something so malicious.

I asked Rob (the squirrel) if yelling at the tree had made him feel better. He admitted it had not. He also admitted that the thing that had tried to run him over was likely not a tree. He then seemed embarrassed, which led to him hurling an acorn at my nose and running away. Even Rob (the squirrel), who is characteristically aggressive, blameless, and unashamed by nature, could not place blame on a tree.

Trees are your friends. Even if one falls over and smashes something you love, it is not the tree’s fault. They did not ask to be horizontal. In fact, I am seventy-six percent sure they abhor being anything but vertical. Unless you enjoy pointless acts and looking quite silly, please, do not yell at trees. There are better ways to spend your time.

I am a bear.

To read more thoughts from this particular bear, interact with the blue or grey parts of this statement. It would be fun.

It is nice to have things to remember.

sun and moon (2)

I do not completely understand the purpose of remembering things. I know the ability can be useful sometimes. One time I buried a perfectly good rabbit skeleton next to an old, bug filled log. Several weeks later, I found myself wanting a rabbit skeleton to chew on in the middle of the night. I did not have one immediately, so I used a series of images and smells I remembered to go out and fetch the rabbit skeleton I buried by the log. If I had not had those memories, I would have had to find a brand new rabbit skeleton to chew on. Rabbit skeletons are not very easy to find.

However, for every rabbit skeleton my memories retrieve for me, they also do something that is not so useful or pleasant. All too often, I find myself suddenly remembering something terribly embarrassing for absolutely no reason. Even without putting any effort towards retrieving the memory, I will randomly be reminded of something I do not want to think about. I recently stopped lapping up water mid-drinking because remembering the time I accidentally ate a bee and it stung the inside of my cheek made me feel so embarrassed that I was felt stunned.

Why bother being able to remember embarrassing things? I already made the mistake or recovered from the particular instance of lapsed judgment, so why make me relive it? It seems like a cruel thing for memories to do. I suppose memories want you to be reminded so you will not make the same mistake again in the future, but surely there must be a better way to remind me of that than to make me relive my embarrassment and pain in such great detail.

There are other moments when memories fail to do what they are best at, which is reminding you of something. They might only remind you of parts of something important or just minute details that do not add up to a whole, coherent image. Memories will often only deliver moments of your life to your mind in sporadic, nearly nonsensical chunks. Fragments you have to put together as best you can. Pieces that will never quite fit together no matter how desperately you want them to.

I know I have not always been a single, lone bear. I know, at some point in my life, there were other bears with me. Large bears. Bears my size. Bears who licked the top of my head while I rested by the riverside. Bears who stood up on their hind legs with me, hurling their paws at my face in a playful manner. Bears who kept me safe. Kept me company. Kept me warm.

Those memories, the ones of the bears who must have been an important part of my life at some point, are scattered and difficult to recall. Those are the memories I want to recall, though. Those are the thoughts I want to be randomly reminded of while I sip river water. The fragments of those thoughts are so difficult to hold together, though. Sometimes I even doubt they are real. Maybe I made them up myself. I do not know.

I am still grateful that my head lets me have memories, though. Despite how painful or distant some of them might be, there are still many that are an absolute joy to have and cherish. One of my favorites happened late in the afternoon of an otherwise very regular day. The sun, with its lovely warmth and glow, was beginning to rest into the horizon. At the same time, the moon, with its proudly pale light, was beginning to rise from the horizon. For a little while, the two giants, who normally represented completely different feelings and ideas and temperatures for me, shared the sky above the trees. I stared at the scene for as long as it persisted.

Then a tiny a gnat got caught in my eye, a part of that memory that I feel more distinctly and vividly than any other from that moment.

I am a bear.

You can read more bear thoughts by clicking these lovely blue words.

More Human Questions, More Bear Answers

I frequently get questions through Twitter and Facebook about various things. Whether it is life as a bear, things about the forest, bear advice, or personal questions, humans and (possibly) other creatures are always curious about all aspects of bear living. While I am not here to represent all bears, I do like to respond to these questions as best I can by using my personal experiences and viewpoints. I decided it might be nice to answer some more.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
I have seen so many rocks, so it is hard to keep track of every single one of them. I did see one that I thought was shaped like a bear from afar. When I got closer, it was actually not shaped like a bear. It was also not a rock. It was actually a very angry raccoon holding a rock and hissing at me. And we were in a dumpster together. That was probably the neatest looking rock I have ever seen. Maybe.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
Probably not. One time I put some cans I found into a hole I dug and waited for rain. Does that count?

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
I once thought I had found an entrance to another dimension or some kind of time-warp, but it was actually an abandoned tent with a mother opossum nursing her children. I only know that because Rob (the squirrel) jumped inside, shouting something about going back in time and saving the prehistoric squirrel. He quickly ran out and reported a very angry opossum and several newborns. I hope that family of opossums is still living there, happy and healthy. Oh, and one time I found an acorn with two mismatched halves for a cap. That was fun, too.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
I highly recommend rolling around on the ground for several minutes or until you get too dizzy to keep rolling. If you have done that already (you probably have), you should consider talking to as many trees as you possibly can. Trees have great things to say and are very open to sharing their thoughts and experiences.

Human Questions:

Bear Answer:
Moss is maybe one of the greatest gifts of the forest. It is not secretly wet, it is openly wet (usually), which makes it great for chewing on, resting on, and smelling. It also looks wonderful with its relaxing grey and dark-green colors, making it perfect for constructing a hat or a lovely scarf. Moss is amazing. I highly recommend moss. Any kind of moss. I actually do not know if there are different types of moss, but if there are, you should try them all.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
I have never met any mountain goats, but I am sure you can trust them. And even if they wrong you (and you know there’ll always be a few things, maybe several things, that you’re going to find difficult to forgive), there’s going to be a day you feel better.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
You can eat snow.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
I do not have a five-year-plan. I understand it is good to plan and to have goals, but I usually try to enjoy whatever event or thing currently occupies my time. This is not always easy either, however. It is very easy to get distracted by what you do not know or want to know or know too well. I still try, despite often failing, to enjoy the taste of the tree I am licking or the fact that I am not being mocked by deer or the faint glow the moon has when it shines through a lightly cloudy night. Your five-year-plan should probably be to just do your best. Not much more can be asked of bears, or even human I would guess.

Human Questions:

Bear Answer:
The wind is very loud and very pleasant and makes your fur stand up and smells neat. I like the wind.

Human Questions:

Bear Answer:
Smelling things. Licking new things. Finding new smells. Finding new tastes. Looking at things. Digging holes.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
It is important to look for things to eat everywhere you go. Always keep your nose up and sniffing. If you are still truly unable to find anything to eat, you might need to ask for help. If you are kind enough and lucky enough, you might be able to find a friendly squirrel or raccoon who will not attack you and instead share their own findings. It is always better to ask for help than to go hungry. Being hungry is not fun.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
I try not to think about it too much, but it is a realization I have had. It is not an easy thing to have in your brain as you try to traverse the forest in a peaceful manner. It is completely out of my control, however. If there were more I could do in a meaningful way, I would. I just try to occupy my brain with other thoughts.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
Bees and I do not usually get along very well.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
If you are being attacked by panic, the best thing to do is to remember that whatever is causing your panic to attack you is probably not always going to be making your panic attack you. Whatever it is, it will probably one day not be around, making your panic do awful things like attack you. You are not stuck. Also, try to think about trees or finding food in a trash can or moss or other lovely things that calm you down in moments of intense stress.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
I think you should be more open to sharing the berries. Always share your berries.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
Not that I know of.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
Regardless of gender, please do not urinate on or near bears. I would also suggest utilizing your mouth in order to make human speech patterns. I believe that is how most humans do it.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
Are you sure that was a rock? Rocks do not usually pinch unless they are under a lot of pressure.

Human Question:

Bear Question

Bear Answer:
Rob (the squirrel) is the only squirrel who talks to me. I see other squirrels all the time, but they seem too vested in whatever acorn related businesses they are working on to spare any time for me. Perhaps they have other bears to talk to.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
Grow as much fur as you like until you feel you have grown enough. There is no such thing as too much fur. You should survey your current body mass and decide whether it is best to increase or decrease your size based on what other activities you decide to do besides foraging

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
I am absolutely content with being a bear. However, I sometimes wish I had thumbs. Thumbs would be nice.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
Of course. My moves consist mostly or rolling around on the forest floor, shaking my head, and tumbling. I call it the Doing the Bear. You should try it at home

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
I have endured many struggles as a bear. But I would say the toughest has been trying to get all the peanut butter out of a discarded jar. My tongue only goes but so far. Parting with the unattainable remnants at the bottom of a jar is the hardest thing I have experienced. That and coping with the deaths of fellow woodland creatures. That is hard, too.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
Being a bear… And fur. Lots of fur.

Human Question:

Bear Answer:
Birds.  I am certain birds carry on conversations with the moon as they sing and whistle throughout the night and day. Who else would the moon talk to? Not me, apparently. I would like to talk to the moon.


Thank you, again, for asking me questions. I am always so taken aback by how interested many of you seem to be in my life as a bear. I apologize if I did not get to your question. There were so many to choose from.

I hope you enjoyed my responses. If you need more bear things in your life, you can read my bear thoughts on Twitter or try being a bear with my choose-your-own-bear-adventure story. I look forward to answering more of your questions sometime in the future.

Thank you.

-A bear


Hello, I am a bear. I often like to write haiku on my Twitter account. It is a good way for me to express some of my forest experiences in an interesting form. Many of my followers seem to enjoy my haiku (which I call Bearku). I decided to collect all of the Bearkus I have written in a single place. On top of that, I have added a few new ones. I have also created titles for them, which are indicated with leaning, dark text.

Cold Air

Breathing out cold air,
I see what comes out of me
and then it is gone.

Fighting Wind

The strong winds fight me,
hurling pinecones at my face.
I want to eat them.

Broken Tree

The tree is broken
I want that acorn to eat
I’ll smell my fur now


Wind blows, dries the eyes
Have to close them for comfort:
forget where I am


Paws dig into dirt
Cooling soothing feeling chills
It fights the harsh sun

A Duck I Ate

I think of the duck
I regret eating the duck,
and what will eat me?


I eat bugs sometimes
No wait, that is a small lie
I eat bugs all times

Good Eats

I found the garbage
that goes into my belly
to make me sleepy


Ants have strong numbers
but bears are often alone
Which one is nicer?


Wind blows through the grass
picking up dirt and debris
and then I eat it

Resources (Pt. 2)

Wind goes through your fur
It sweeps the debris off you
And now you are clean


Forest currency:
Yes, acorns can be traded
for various goods

Empty Yummy

I like to eat air
It tastes like so many things
But also nothing


Moldy and so dark
Minimal dead animals
Perfect for a bear

Open Mouth

Forest gets ready
to be silent for the night.
Think I ate a moth.

To Be a Bear

To smell like a bear,
one must first live like a bear
and eat lots of trash


Get in the river
Let the water carry me
I go where it goes

Where the Forest Goes

No matter how slow
you move throughout the forest,
the forest still goes


I have many claws
They are all pointy and sharp
What to do with them?

I Ate so Many Crickets

So many crickets
making noise in the forest
and in my belly


August goes away
September settles with us
I want leaves to fall

Fall (Pt. 2)

And now on the ground
I will eat so many leaves
These are such good times


Sticks fall from the trees.
I step on them and they break.
I’m so sorry, trees.

Birds are Different

Bird nest: sticks and straws
Bear nest: soft dirt in a cave
Both are so lovely

Birds are Different (Pt. 2)

Bird neck: feather spots
Bear neck: no feather but fur
Both are smooth to touch

Where do Fish Go?

I follow a fish
I trace it with squinted eyes
It only escapes


I hope you enjoyed my Bearku, and I hope they inspire you to create your own (as many of you already have). Thank you for reading. And if you have not already, please remember to read my choose-your-own-bear-adventure story. I am told it is quite fun, and I will have a new bear-adventure ready for you soon!

-A bear

You are a bear

You are a bear. You wake up in a dimly lit cave. Your eyes are adjusted to the low light, so you are able to see the textures of your surroundings. You are about to begin a new day as a bear. There will be many obstacles, mental and physical, for you to overcome. You might find something important. You might meet someone important. You might get hurt. You might eat something. It is up to you. As a bear.

Your fur is warm but dirty.

The cave floor is soothing. Cool.

Your surroundings motivate you to…