Tag Archives: the forest

How to approach humans: an important guide by a bear.

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humans yell (2)

If you spend enough time in the forest, you will eventually come across a human. Humans are by far the strangest creatures in the forest (and I have my doubts as to whether or not they even actually live in the forest). If you do find yourself in front of a human, it is important to know some facts and guidelines about them, their demeanor, and how/when to approach/avoid them.

Before I go into depth about being actually around a human, I will explain some of the things I know (or speculate about) them:

  • Humans live in plastic triangles (tents) when they do live in the forest
  • Humans carry a lot of things with them
  • Humans also leave a lot of things behind when they abandon their triangles
  • Humans are protective of their dumpsters and keep their most valuable objects in them (including grease stained napkins)
  • Humans come in a great variety of shapes, colors, patterns, and textures
  • Humans are very loud and will direct their loudness at you
  • Humans stay in small groups (2-4)
  • Humans love hats
  • Humans are easily startled
  • Humans can fly (not proven)
  • Humans cannot run fast

Humans seem very scary upon sight, but it is important to remember that humans are generally just as afraid of you as you are of them. That might seem untrue when you hear the way they yell at you when they find you pawing through their seemingly abandoned tents, but always remember: humans are more loud than they are scary.

So what do you do when you find a human or, more likely, a human finds you? You can remember the steps of engaging humans with the helpful acronym H.U.M.A.N:

How many are there?

  • How many humans are there? Are they clearly in a group? You are far less likely to encounter a single human, so remember that even if you only see one human, there are likely more close by.

Understand their motives.

  • What do these humans want? Most humans seem driven by a desire to leave things around in the forest and yelling. If you see a human, he/she is likely about to do one of those two things: yell or drop something. You can tell by looking at their mouths and hands. Is the human’s mouth open? He/she is probably going to yell. Is there something in the human’s hand? He/she is probably about to drop that something and leave it there. Just wait for the human to leave before you take it so you can avoid the yelling, which leads of us to…

Making sounds?

  • Is the human making sounds? If so, that human is probably about to yell. Is the human yelling at you, specifically? Maybe at another human? Maybe at the trees? Maybe the human is just yelling because he/she likes to yell? It can be hard to tell, but nobody likes to be yelled at or be near someone who is about to yell, so remember how much humans love to do it.

Assess the situation.

  • Use the previous steps to create an assessment of your current human situation. You need to understand everything about what the human is doing and what the human wants. Once you have all of the details assessed, you must…

…Now run.

  • Always run away from humans. They will not chase you and, even if they do, they are not very fast. Frankly, you should probably just skip to this step of the process for every encounter you have with humans.

Humans are scary, there is no around that, but by using the H.U.M.A.N process (or at least the last step of it), you can avoid being yelled at by them.

Good luck with your future human encounters.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

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

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear.

The immortal space lizard I never knew but really missed when he was gone.

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I had a dream about an immortal space lizard.

Bowie lizard (2)

The space lizard landed in the forest one day and explained that he was from Mars (I do not know where that is or what that is) and had decided to stop by the forest to show woodland creatures how to be free from the social, artistic, and culture expectations and realities set forth by the forest.

I was confused by his words, but I liked the way the space lizard talked. Also, he had a very neat orange bolt shape on his face. I liked that.

I also liked listening to him. He seemed to know about the forest and all the forest creatures. He was able to sing to them and about them so fluidly. In my dream, he put on a small show of music using his voice and a tiny stick that had stretched out hairs on it. It was nice.

Again, though, I was confused, but everything about the space lizard made me want to be like the space lizard even though I knew I could never be a space lizard because I am not immortal and I am not from Mars and I do not know how to sing and I am very large and furry and not skinny and pretty (yes, he was very pretty) like a space lizard at all. But the space lizard was so effortlessly a space lizard that I felt like even I, a bear, could be a space lizard,

In my dream, he was in the forest for a very long time. He was such a normal part of the forest that everyone, myself included, got used to him. He was our space lizard (even though we knew he really was not), so we all grew comfortable with him, thinking he would never leave us.

But he did. Eventually, the space lizard told us he had to go. He had done so much in the forest and had to go to another forest somewhere else. He flew off quite quickly and without warning, and I think he even had fire coming out of his legs when he flew away. It was intense. Nobody in the forest knew how to take his leaving. He had been with us for so long that the forest seemed empty without him.

Then I woke up.

I never actually knew an immortal space lizard, but it was nice to have a dream about him. It was nice to think about someone like him existing and making the whole forest a nicer and happier (and stranger) place. I did not know him, but I still feel like I miss him.

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.

 

Why do I have to not be a bear eventually?

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not forever (2)

Can you win at living in the forest? Does living in the forest stop when you do well enough, or is the only end similar to the end of the anthill I accidentally sat on: nonexistence?

I have never heard of anyone successfully finding an ending to forest living other than the one detailed with my ant experience. That does not mean there is not another way out of forest living. Perhaps achieving it means being taken away from the forest, thus it would be difficult for anyone who has experienced it to communicate its existence to anyone who has not experienced it. Maybe there is a particular set of actions and mindsets that will help you not end up being the bird carcass I found inside my cave the other day. Maybe you can end up not nonexisting. Maybe you can keep being the thing you like being forever and ever no matter what.

I do not know.

Nobody does.

But I cannot help but to obsess over the possibility when I think about not being a bear (or an anything else for that matter). It is terrifying. I want to keep being a bear, and it seems strange to me that eventually, no matter what, I have to not be a bear.

Why do I have to not be a bear eventually? Why was I designed to be a bear so well for so long, only to have it eventually taken from me for no reason that I can figure out?

Why be a bear only to eventually not be a bear?

The most frustrating part about these questions is how useless everyone and everything seems to be when it comes to answering them. Trees? Nothing in regard to these questions. Squirrels? They seem unable to think beyond a few seconds ago and a few seconds from now. The sky? Well, the sky never says anything, so that is silly to even consider. For awhile I figured rocks might know (the depth of their wisdom is only matched by the hardness of their being and their effectiveness in chipping my teeth when I chew on them), but if they do, they are not sharing the answers.

It would be nice to at least have some kind of encouragement when these matters, some kind of reassurance that not everything about existing beyond right here and now is so daunting and terrifying. Nothing provides that, though. And, in fact, the forest is littered with clues to point to the opposite. Everything that stops being a thing in the forest does not get to do so gracefully. In fact, most things are just eaten or simply rot away (I cannot fault the forest too much for this, after all, since I do a lot of said eating).

So how can I win at living in the forest? What can I do to keep being a bear and not face not being a bear? What does the forest want from me in return?

Or do I need to just accept that I might not be a bear one 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.

 

I do not know what I cannot do.

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forest rules (2)

Some tiny rodents spent a great deal of time building a tiny stick structure inside my cave.

Did you know you were allowed to do that?

I did not. The thought of doing so had certainly crossed my mind before. I had, on numerous occasions, considered building tiny structures within my cave (which is, itself, a kind of structure). I figured it was not allowed, though. Who would let such strange things happen with absolutely no consequences at all? Certainly, there had to be some rules on this matter.

It turns out there are no rules on this matter.

Or any matter, that is. Not in the forest, anyway.

After I accidentally slept on the rodents’ tiny structure (again, not against the rules but I am sure someone (probably the rodents) frown upon it), I decided I needed to try to understand the do’s and don’ts of the forest. After all, what if I was breaking forest rules, upsetting whoever created those rules (likely trees but a council of raccoons definitely seemed plausible as well).

I went exploring for answers.

I had no idea where to begin, so I just started doing what I like to do when I do not understand something: ask local squirrels and just sort of shout out my questions until someone or something answers them or I get sleepy and nap wherever I am standing.

My search was mostly fruitless.

Rob (the squirrel) (from whom I often seek perspective on various subjects because he thinks so differently compared to most things that think) said that there were no rules anywhere, that the word was meaningless, and that I should do whatever I please all the time until I die because that is all there is. Then he bit me and ran.

I suppose it would be nice to do anything I wanted forever and always, but I did not like Rob (the squirrel) biting me, and it would have been nice had there been a rule against that.

This was a complicated matter. What can you do in the forest? What can you not do in the forest? Who decided such things? Did I get any input on these decisions?

I still do not have the answers. I do my best to do what I think bears can do (eat grass, nap, stare at things, etc.) while trying to avoid what I think bears probably cannot do (get along with deer, fly, not nap, etc.).

It is intimidating to think I have to be my own rules compass, but if the forest cannot provide a set of rules for me and other creatures to follow, what am I to do?

Honestly, I just hope I am doing it 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.

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

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

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:

I found a chair.

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chair

The forest is cluttered with a variety of wonderful objects that are not native to the forest. Some of them are completely harmless (donuts, tents, wind). Some of them seem to serve no purpose to the forest (tires, chairs, strange birds). And some are downright bad for the forest’s overall well being (the deer across the river). Throughout my travels of the forest, I have found a great number of these curious artifacts. I almost always stop to inspect them. Sniff them. Lick them. Stare at them. However, no matter how I approach these objects, nearly all of my interactions with them have one thing in common: I usually accidentally break them.

I never mean to end the life of the strange objects I find in the forest, but I almost always do. Take, for example, a lovely plastic chair I recently stumbled upon. It was a beautiful red color, some of it fading into a more orange hue from exposure to the sun. It had to have been in the forest for quite some time, so I felt beckoned to examine it beyond a simple glance from afar.

I approached the chair.

It was still, so I was assured that any further poking around would not be met with some kind of violent reaction from the chair.

I sniffed it.

It smelled like dirt. It also smelled a little bit like insects (not any specific kind that I could detect).

I licked it.

Dirt. Again. Also insects. Again. I think I could taste the sun on it, too, but then again, I am not entirely certain what the sun actually tastes like (though I have my theories).

The chair was withstanding nearly every part of my normal investigation pattern: approach, sniff, lick. I only had one step left: sit. I frequently find myself trying to sit on new things I find in my ever vigilant search for the most comfortable things in the forest. Was this chair going to be comfortable? At the time, I had no idea, but I had to know.

So I sat on the chair.

It was nice for a moment. A brief moment. Then the tiny legs of the chair snapped and I found myself hurtling toward the ground. It was not a long trip from the top of the chair to the ground, but it was long enough to frighten me and send me running off into the forest. At the time, I did not know that this action was me actually killing the chair by accident. I had to run away just in case this was the chair’s way of trying to kill me on purpose.

I hid behind a tree for awhile.

When I felt like it was safe to come out, I did. The chair was still broken. Its sad cracked legs were shattered. Pieces of them were scattered around the forest floor. I felt guilty.

I put the broken chair through the same process of investigation as I had the whole chair (approach, sniff, lick, sit). This was to ensure that the chair did not change its mind about not being violently reactive to something after becoming a broken chair.

It did not break again when I sat on it the second time, but it was clear that I had left a significant amount of damage from my investigation.

I like finding new things in the forest. I like investigating those new things, too, but I wish I knew a more effective, less damaging manner of doing so. I am sorry, chair that I broke. Also, I am sorry, everything else I have sat on by accident or on purpose. That includes you, the opossum who was nesting in my moss collection. It was an accident, opossum. I promise.

I just want to know more about where I live, and I hope I can learn how to do so in ways that do not leave chairs and opossums upset and/or crushed.

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?

I might be the only one who knows you can eat anything you find on the ground.

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market

You can eat just about anything. It is one of the greatest joys of life in the forest. Berries, dirt, sticks, pine-cones, fish skeletons, fox carcasses, anthills, plastic cups, tents, those plastic sticks that hold up tents, hats, or even pebbles. All of those things and more. You can eat it all if you really want to.

I fear I might be the only creature in the forest who is completely aware of this fact. This thought occurred to me when I found a perfectly good aluminum can to chew on buried under some pine needles (edible) and worms (also edible). There is no way that I was the first creature to stumble upon such a wonderful gift for any stomach. It could have very easily been anybody’s wonderful gift for their respective stomachs. The can was old. It was crushed and covered in hard dirt (which was also edible).

This can had been seen. It had to have come in contact with someone (or someones) who eats things.

So why did I find it before those other someones? Why was it not consumed prior before I got to it? This is not an uncommon occurrence, either. I frequently find these kinds of treasures throughout the forest. Untouched gifts that I gather and feast upon in my cave. Am I truly the only one who spends nights in a cave, enjoying the fruits of a bountiful foraging expedition? Does nobody else in the forest find the nutritional value in the brown paper bag I found caught on the limb of a tree, tattered and torn and likely delicious?

I decided I would try to spread the word of these limitless gifts. Using a moss covered, hollowed out log I found near my cave as a table, I setup a shop that displayed the numerous wonders the forest had to offer. For free, any creature was welcomed to approach my display, ask about an item, and take it back to his/her den.

As I waited for other forest inhabitants to take a gander at my wares, I accidentally ate many of them. At first, I had displayed a fish skeleton, a small bushel of red berries I had never seen before, the aforementioned aluminum can, a glass bottle, a crumpled up paper bag, a tin can, and some sticks.

By the time the first creature arrived, I only had the glass bottle, the tin can, and the paper bag left. She was a raccoon. She must have been in the log the entire time. I had not seen her enter or exit my makeshift table before then. She slowly shuffled out of the log and climbed to the top.

She sniffed the tin can.

She pushed it with her tiny paws.

Then she grabbed it with her teeth and ran away.

Success! I had convinced a fellow forest friend to partake in the wonders of forest foraging. She did not have anything to say about the can other than the distant hisses I heard from the direction she ran toward, but I was still excited at the idea of spreading awareness.

I waited a little while longer for any other forest creatures who wanted to be enlightened. Eventually, the wind picked up the paper bag and carried it off. I had not considered that even elements of the forest might like to enjoy what the forest had to offer. Perhaps the rain would like to try the glass bottle?

I wanted to ensure any creature or thing in the forest who wanted to see my findings could be able to, so I decided to stick around long after my inventory was down to just one glass bottle. I waited for a very long time. To pass the time, I chewed on the moss (another amazing thing to eat in the forest) that covered the old log. Surely there had to be something or someone out there who wanted to hear what I had to share about the forest.

Nobody came. The moon was overhead as I picked up the empty bottle and carried it to my cave. I wanted to spread awareness, which I did to a small extent, but I was saddened to realize very few animals of the forest were interested in what I had to say.

I wanted to help my fellow forest dwellers, but I hardly made an impact when it came to sharing my ideas. I should have been delighted. After all, if nobody wanted to eat the old wallet I found in an abandoned tent, did that not just mean more for me? Yet I could not get over how unheard I felt. I had something to say, but nobody wanted to listen. Even the raccoon did not stay long enough to hear why I had a display of tin cans and paper bags.

I keep a rock in my cave. It rests in the darkest part of my dwelling. When I feel like I have not been heard or when I need to say something that I cannot tell anyone, I tell my rock. I dropped the empty bottle next to the rock and explained how useful item was. I told my rock that it had a wonderful taste and smelled like mold. Then I told my rock about the raccoon and the wind. Then I explained how I felt not being listened to by anyone else.

I think the rock understood. I left the bottle next to it and curled up in a ball to sleep. It is nice to be heard, even by rocks.

I am a bear.

To read more thoughts from this particular bear, interact with the blue or grey parts of this sentence. Also, be on the look out for a new bear adventure.