Moe The Bear- Part 1& 2

In the part of the United States where I live we had, at one time, a sizable Black Bear population. By the time I arrived the Black Bear folk had been pushed hundreds of miles north. I vaguely remember riding with my parents through National Parks and sighting Black Bears digging through garbage cans. Not a view which would instill wonderment. They kinda reminded me of my Uncle George. So no real contact, just stories recalled from a previous generation. I vividly recollect a story told by my Grandparents, a sad story.When my Grandparents were first married they lived in a small upstairs apartment on the top of a house. They couldn’t leave their little town because money was short. They were happy to find a place that was reasonable.Their landlord lived in the first floor apartment and, underneath the outside steps running up to the second floor, he kept a chained Black Bear. He called the bear Moe.My grandparents were very nervous, having to walk by the bear each time they had to go anywhere. Being country born, they had a healthy respect for what a child of Mother Nature could do. They tried to give the bear a wide birth, as best they could and still have access to their apartment.After a month or so they began to get used to Moe. My Grandmother especially started to take an interest in him. Moe would rarely get to leave his spot beneath the stairs, the chain wouldn’t let him go far. My Grandmother noticed his eyes followed them wherever they passed by. She swore Moe would let out a sad sigh. My Grandfather would not have any of that speculation, he firmly believed animals didn’t have emotions. Even so, they both took pity on him and fed him scraps when they could.Moe was only a source of entertainment for the landlord. Somewhere along the way he had taught Moe how to hold a bottle. So, to the vast amusement of the landlord and his friends, Moe would get drunk then ram his head against the wooden wall underneath the steps. Everyone would laugh uproariously.My Grandparents didn’t approve of the landlord’s behavior, in relationship to Moe and the excessive drinking. When they finally had the chance to move they took it. My Grandmother was sad to leave Moe with “no friends”. She arranged with my Grandfather to return every so often to the old apartment and feed a treat to Moe. Moe lived on in his miserable existence for another year. One day the landlord came out and found Moe dead. The landlord took a tractor and drug Moe to the local dump where he was left to rot.My Grandfather always shook his head when he related the story about Moe. He would end with, “A wild animal should be left in the wild. It’s not a plaything. Every time I go to zoo I think of Moe. The Bears I see there are usually huddled in the corner of a cage stinking of their own urine. I often wonder, if the crowd could get away with it, would they give the bear a bottle of whiskey to drink. About a decade ago my friend Judy invited me to her home in northern Wisconsin. She had bought a house near the deep woods and she was excited to show me something. I arrived late at night, Judy had me promise I would be up by 5:00 a.m so I could view her surprise. I grudgingly said yes, I was getting to the point in my life where sleep was more important then surprises.Come the dawn I was standing at her large picture windows facing a small field, the treeline in the distance. A bird feeder overfilled with seed was right below the windows. I yawned and hoped I could be able to go back to bed. As the light began to fill the morning Judy pointed toward the trees. They started as two specks and slowly walked into focus. Judy smiled, “My Bears.” A female Black Bear and her young male cub made their way to Judy’s bird feeder. The cub sprinted the last few yards to the feeder and stuck his snout into the seed. The mother took her time and patrolled around the yard. The young fella spilled more seed then he actually ate, the Mom seemed to just be indulging him. I know it’s not smart to project human emotion and feeling into animals but sometimes the situation calls for it.“They eat anything besides the seed,” I asked. I was suddenly worried about Judy’s safety. She must have read my mind. “They only stay a few minutes. I think they just pass by on their way to the river. The river being another two miles away. Judy had finished the sentence when the mom gave a grunt. The cub stopped whipping bird seed and followed his mom as she ambled from the yard. All the way across the field the young one would run past his Mom, wait until she passed, and run by her again.“Aren’t they great” Judy said. I agreed, there was something beautiful and magical about the incident. “You think it’s OK to name them?” I thought for a moment, remembered my Grandfather’s saying but this once I thought I could give it a rest.“I think it’s OK, as long as we don’t make pets of them.”I asked a question. “May name the cub?” “Sure,” Judy answered, “What?”“Moe”These days when I think of Moe I conjure images of a young Black Bear running free in the North woods, far away from any chains or zoos.