The Bear Facts of Life

Some Life Lessons Arrive By Accident

This story has been published in Bay to Ocean 2023: The Year’s Best Writing from the Eastern Shore Writers Association.

The Bear Facts of Life

When my family moved when I was in the 5^th grade, we discovered there was a bear in our new neighborhood. We saw it the first day we moved in, lounging next to a large oak tree behind the house across from our new home. The oak tree was massive. I’d estimate it to have been three feet in diameter at the trunk, with its roots fanning out and curling around it. Far above, the sun was shining through its leaves, reflecting off the sheen of the animal's thick, black fur coat. From time to time, he would stand up, stretch, and yawn. As he did, we’d get a good look at the large, sharp teeth lining his drooly mouth which I’m sure couldn’t have been as frothy as my memory suggests. He’d look around, pace a bit, and reposition himself, once again curling up between the roots of the oak tree to which he was chained.

It wasn’t an actual bear. It was a large German Shepherd named Bear, and a more aptly named dog has not tread the earth. Bear, the pet of the family across the road, was enormous. If a typical full grown German Shepherd weighs anywhere from 70 to 90 pounds, Bear weighed 100 pounds, easy. His intimidating look aside, he was more rambunctious than he was mean.

Truth be told, Bear didn’t lay around much. Usually, he was pacing back and forth, sometimes completely around the tree dragging his heavy chain behind him. The countless hours of pacing resulted in a dusty area encircling the tree, and a light-brown ring around the trunk where the metal chain links had worn down the tree’s otherwise thick bark. Bear’s size and free spirit meant the chain which held him to the base of the tree, and the tree itself combined to make some of the most important equipment in the neighborhood. As will happen with family dogs, Bear would get loose in the neighborhood every now and then. While nothing bad ever happened, the size and energy of the animal was enough to make us nervous. Still, he’d mostly just run around trying to evade the attempts of his family to corral him.

With two parents and three kids, the family was composed much like ours. Sara was the oldest child, the same age as me and in the same grade in school. The middle child, David, was two years younger, but an age close enough to mine to have similar interests as I. We played together and got along well. The youngest was Aaron. Aaron was the same age as my younger brother and was a kindred spirit with Bear when it came to energy and self-control. Nobody ever tied Aaron to the base of a large oak tree, but I’ve got to think some of the adults in the neighborhood might have thought about it a time or two. The kid was a spitfire. Fortunately, he was also good-natured. In the four years we lived across the road from each other, David, Aaron, my brother, and I would spend innumerable hours playing together.

As far as the “typical American family” stereotype goes, the only thing our family was missing when we arrived in the neighborhood was a dog of our own. The next summer my parents finally relented to the constant badgering of us kids and agreed we could get a canine companion. We all kind of thought Bear looked like a handful, so we decided to get something of a smaller variety and ended up with a Beagle/Springer Spaniel mix. We got her as a puppy, and she was mostly white with some large, dark-brown, and black spots here and there. We named her Casey. Using a cable coated in red plastic, Dad strung up a line between two trees about eighty feet apart next to our home where Casey had plenty of room to run back and forth. As we kids played outside, Casey was always there. Sometimes we’d run around with her, other times we’d do our own thing and leave her to entertain herself.

My parents were intentional about creating memorable family experiences. For dad – a pastor and theologian – thinking, learning, and waxing philosophical was second nature. He enjoyed being a part of leading people through learning experiences, particularly if those experiences were in relation to the divine. At the time of this story, Mom was a special Education teacher on her way to a career as a public-school administrator. She had a knack for discipline and knew exactly how to adjust a child’s behavior with little more than a look – a look which always seemed to pry into the depths of their soul. She loved children and never hurt a kid, but the look and tone of her voice when addressing undesired behavior would have terrified Satan himself. She pulled no punches, even though she never threw any. She disciplined so that learning could occur unimpeded by misbehavior. Growing up as one of her children I was the beneficiary of her teaching lessons – some painful, some pleasurable – but all useful.

A puppy was the perfect learning opportunity. Of course, there was the idea of a dog being a big responsibility – a lot to take care of. Upon the acquisition of our puppy, we faced the decision of whether to get her spayed or to eventually allow her to have puppies of her own. Mom thought it would be a fun and educational family experience to have puppies, so we decided not to get Casey spayed. We weren’t dog breeders, but mom was resourceful and learned it’s safer to wait until at least the dog’s second heat cycle before attempting to breed puppies. So that’s what we did.

Well, that’s what we intended to do.

A few months after Casey’s became a part of our family, I noticed a drop of blood where she’d been standing next to me in the kitchen. Concerned, I ran to my mother and told her I thought Casey might be hurt, explaining what I'd found.

“Show me.” she said, smiling with an unconcerned, knowing look. It was a reaction I found to be confusing since I thought blood was a sure sign of injury. I escorted her to the kitchen, and there on the brown and yellow linoleum floor, was a single, dark-red spot of blood. She looked at it closely and touched it with her finger to be sure it was. As I watched her, I looked for signs of concern, expecting her smile to fade. It did not.

“Casey! Here, girl!” Mom called. She made that little kissing sound with her lips; the kind people often make when calling for their pet. Casey trotted in; unconcerned, likely hopeful being called to the kitchen would result in a morsel of human food. Instead, mom lifted the dog's tail to get a better look at her backside. There, at the very base of what my sixth-grade self would have described as “her girl part,” were the tell-tale signs mom was looking for. Signs of what, I didn’t know. But mom did, and it seemed to make her happy.

“Casey is in heat!” She exclaimed. By this time, my seven-year-old brother, Jeremy, and 15-year-old sister, Traci, had joined us in the kitchen.

“What’s heat?” Jeremy asked.

“Look at Casey’s bottom. See how the pointy part is kind of swollen more than usual, and stained red with a bit of blood? Well, that tells me she’s in heat! When a dog is in heat, it means they can get pregnant and have puppies.” Mom explained.

“Really?!” Jeremy’s eyes sparkled with excitement. The little brat was always good at lighting up the room when he was happy. His mood was infectious and, with the thought of cute little puppies running around, we were all a bit excited.

Jeremy’s seven-year-old brain continued to try and process what was happening and was soon back trying to figure out why dogs had to bleed in order to have puppies. With a quizzical look and tilted head, he asked a follow-up question we didn’t see coming.

“Was Traci in heat on vacation?” He inquired.

“HEY! I WAS NOT IN HEAT!” Traci protested.

“Prove it, dog!” I teased her. She punched me squarely in the pressure point on the front of my shoulder, her middle knuckle finding its target with ease. As I hid the pain, she stormed out of the kitchen, her excitement about the possibility of puppies now overcome by my ability to annoy her.

“No, Jeremy. Traci was not in heat.” Clarified mom, glaring at me. “But it’s similar, I guess.”

Jeremy’s question was innocent. On a cross-country road trip a couple of years prior, mother nature blessed my sister with her first experience with menstruation in the back seat of our white-leather-seated Oldsmobile. While the seat came clean, the experience left an indelible mark on the young teenager, as well as my brother and me, for whom it was also a first experience with menstruation.

My reminder to my sister of her embarrassment was not innocent, and I reveled in my successful attempt to annoy her. Mom, on the other hand, turned her attention to me and put on the face that told me my life was on the line. “Don’t tease your sister, or any other woman, about their period. It’s none of your or anyone else’s business. You understand me?” she asked, eyebrows raised high, pointing at me with what I also recognized was her trigger finger.

“Yeah.” No longer enjoying the moment at my sister’s expense, my shoulder began to hurt where she’d hit me, likely more than it might have if mom hadn’t dressed me down. She stared at me a moment more for effect before continuing. While she spoke to my brother and me, it was clear who’d have the bulk of responsibility.

“Casey is too young to have puppies yet. So, we’re going to have to make sure no boy dogs get near her.” Her words squelched the last remnants of excitement in the room.

“Why?” Jeremy asked.

I looked at mom, wondering if she was going to inform Jeremy of the facts of reproduction. She did not, at least not completely.

“Because if a boy dog gets too close to her, she can get pregnant with puppies.”

“Oh.” Jeremy said, curiosity satisfied.

By this time, I’d been through sex education in school, and I knew what could happen if a boy dog got close to Casey. Frankly, I was curious what it would look like.

We did our best to heed mom’s instruction and never left Casey alone when we took her out. Frankly, this didn’t seem to matter much given the only other dog in the area was Bear, and he was chained to the tree. Still, each time we took Casey out to do her business, Bear, who was completely on the other side of the road, a good 75 yards away, went berserk. He’d run circles around the tree, pulling at the chain, trying to slip his collar from his neck. It was to no avail. The chain and the oak were steadfast. We’d return Casey to the house as soon as she did her business.

After a few days of maintaining a careful watch, we kids became complacent and began to relax back into our familiar routine when taking her out. When I say “we kids” I’m not being entirely honest, because the day it happened, “we kids” was me. I’d taken Casey out to the run and found Jeremy out with David and Aaron, shooting hoops at our basketball net in the driveway. “Hey! Wanna play ‘horse?’”  Aaron yelled at me.

I did, in fact, want to play horse.

I looked over at Casey who was walking around her run, tied up safely. I looked over at Bear, who was once again freaking out, whining loudly, and pulling at his chain. As usual, the chain held, just like it did all the other times. Believing the dog situation was well in hand, I stole the ball from David, who was dribbling nearby.

“I shoot first!” I announced.

We were soon lost in our game of horse, unconcerned as to what was happening around us. Suddenly, I heard a voice shout, “Bear, NO!” The loud whines emanating from Bear ceased, and I caught a commotion out of the corner of my eye. I looked over to where Bear was tied to the tree.

Correction: I looked over to where Bear had been tied to the tree. He was no longer.

While we boys were lost in our game, Sara had come out of her house to retrieve Bear whose howling, barking, and hormone-driven rampage had grown to a point where moving him inside was the smart move. Unfortunately, as she was attempting to transfer his collar from the chain to the leash for the walk back to the house, Bear yanked himself from her control. And, with Sara’s failure to secure Bear inside came my failure to keep him from Casey.

Like a bat out of hell, he was bounding full speed in the direction of our little beagle. Casey, as if planned by the copulation gods, was facing away from the impending surprise, tail wagging in the air as if to highlight the target for the hormone-driven monster running towards her with fire in his eyes. For better or worse, she was oblivious to what was about to happen. Tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, Bear darted across the road towards his bullseye, past the basketball game, and mounted all 100 or so pounds atop the back of our little family beagle.

“Oh, shit.” I said. I didn’t know what to do. Seeing no way out of the predicament, I did what I always did when I was in trouble. I called for my protector. The one who had all the answers. The one who, just days earlier, I’d shamed for simply being a woman. I called for my older sister.

“TRAAAAACIIIIII!!!” I bellowed.

The panic in my voice did its job. Traci was out the front door, down the front steps and at my side in a moment.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“Look!” I pointed over to the most awkward, pathetic scene anyone has ever had the unfortunate opportunity to witness.

Bear was hunched over, thrusting with all his might, a big, contorted ball of black fur trying and failing to grasp Casey with his front paws. All we could see of Casey was her sad little head poking out from under Bear. Her little eyes were bulging out of her head, peering at us, pleading for help. God as my witness, there were tears.

“Oh, shit...” Traci agreed. “Get them apart!” Her concern for me was gone, in its place was a clear belief that this was my problem, and I was going to have to fix it.

“How?!?” I asked.

“GO get him OFF of her!”

I was paralyzed. My sister could have pointed a fully loaded gun at me with her finger on the trigger. It wouldn’t have mattered. There was no way I was going near Bear. I didn’t like to approach him when he was sleeping, so there was no way I wanted anything to do with him when he was doing...what he was doing, tongue still hanging from his mouth, eyes rolled back in his head.

 I looked at David. “Get your dog off Casey!” I pleaded.

He laughed at me. “No way!”

I looked at Aaron, who was laughing harder than David. “There’s no fuckin’ way I’m going over there!” He told me, reading the plea in my expression. At seven-years-old, Aaron already knew the effect of a perfectly placed F-bomb.

“Do something!” Implored my older sister, who hadn’t been nearly as helpful as I’d hoped.

Desperate, I looked around and picked up a nearby stick.

Aaron stopped laughing. “Don’t hurt him!” He yelled, concerned I was about to beat his dog.

In an effort to scare him off, I threw the stick at the ground about three feet from where Bear was surely killing my beagle. He simply turned in the direction from which the stick came – my direction – and looked at me as he continued to thrust. Slower now, as if to mock me.

I looked at the ground next to me and found a rock. Picking it up I cocked my arm back ready to throw when I heard a different, though familiar voice.

“Jeffrey...Stephen...SCOTT! STOP!”

I looked over to my left.

Mom.

In all the ruckus I hadn’t noticed my mother pull into the driveway. I looked around. There was a universal look of fear on the faces of everyone. David, Aaron, Traci, and I were all terrified. Jeremy was the only exception. He was concerned but had learned by then that he wouldn’t take too much heat for anything that went wrong in our family. The rest of us – we weren’t sure who mom was going to kill first. Given she was staring at me and had just shouted my name, I was confident it was going to be me. After a pause, her look of anger broke and she burst into laughter.

“Well, kids, THAT’S how babies are made.”

“Baby puppies, you mean!” Came the retort from Aaron, relieved with the others.

“How do I get him to stop?” I asked, hopeful it wasn’t too late.

“You can’t.” Mom said. “Once dogs start, well, they’re stuck until it’s over.” She could barely contain her laughter.

Convinced my life was no longer in peril, I looked back at Bear and Casey. He’d stopped thrusting and was in the process of the dismount. He turned to leave but soon discovered he couldn’t. As we stood there, the five of us kids saw Bear, now calm, standing next to Casey still … connected … unable to make a swift exit. Then, before we could process or say anything, Casey upped the score on the awkward meter as she bent towards her backside and began to clean herself up in the way dogs do – by licking.

Because, of course she did.

“Oh, come ON! That’s NASTY!” Aaron, having once again found the humor in the situation now that we knew my mom wasn’t mad, was back at his ever-present knack for filling the silence.

After a few minutes, Bear slipped out, re-sheathed his dog-hood, walked back to his oak tree, and laid down.

Mission Accomplished.

Approximately nine weeks later Casey managed to give birth to 5 large German Shepherd/Beagle/Springer-Spaniel mutt puppies. The runt of the litter died a few days later, and we learned a little bit about the hard parts of nature. Casey not only survived the ordeal, but she was a superb momma to the pups as well as a few orphaned raccoons my father, a hobbyist trapper, had come upon. I’m sure there aren’t many people who have seen a dog nurse raccoon pups. But everyone who lived in our neighborhood did. The entire experience had been fun and educational, just as mom had hoped. I’m just not sure she knew how educational it would be.

Casey and her pups.

.