The scribe told me about how the local newspaper was complaining that the local candidates were more interested in expounding upon party platforms than in addressing local issues. Homelessness was the issue that seemed to be of most concern, and rightly so. Often in the morning the Scribe and I greet people who are warming themselves in the sun on the neighbour’s back step after a cold night spent between the trash bin and the next-neighbour-down’s wall.
The election was yesterday and, the media are reporting, nothing has changed; Trudeau is back in with a minority that looks the same as his last. But this morning, we were met with a very different twist on our problem, for which, I think, the City found a rather odd solution. A hungry bear (we had a serious drought this year, limiting bear food supply in the wild) who had drifted into town in search of a handout decided to try the generosity of the Greek restaurant down at the end of the lane. They told it politely that they had no blueberries available, but the bear wouldn’t take no for an answer. The police were called in to deal with the matter, or so we’ve been told. The bear was tranquilized, but the drug takes time to take effect, and the bear, confused and with a pain in the backside in addition to its belly now, decided to move along.
Well, not exactly. As it got sleepier, it began looking for a safe place. It trundled down the lane to the Greek restaurant next door, where it found a gap between their wall and ours. It is a frequent refuge for the local homeless, and the bear must have sensed it would be safe there. Or maybe it just got there and crashed.
Tina, the restauranteur from next door came in to warn the Scribe not to let me out for a while. As you all know, I am bred to protect against bears, and I would definitely be eager to exercise my genetically programmed responsibility. I’m pretty sure I would just bark at it, though, at this stage in my career. I turned twelve late last month, and I have really slowed down. Semi-retired. I still do my patrols. But I do them at a dogged walk these days. I bark a lot along the way, just to let everyone I’m coming to get them. They flee in terror long before I catch up with the sound waves. One must adapt to whatever life throws at one, right?
Back to the bear. It’s kind of boring, anyway. It’s just lying there. Its rear paws are pressed against the restaurant’s kitchen window, its nose against the wall just under our bookshop window. Elizabeth just hopes it gets up before the snow falls and it is forced to make its winter den there!
When Tina asked if the bear would be moved while it was sleeping, the official told her it would probably wander off when it woke up. That would be about lunch time? We’re not sure, but I think it’s a good thing the restaurant has metal bars over its window! Oh, the temptation of that grilled chicken souvlaki! The smell of it coming through the kitchen exhaust might make that poor bear believe that it has died and arrived in ursine heaven, in the very bowl of Ursa Major!
Sweet dreams, Black Bear. We hope you find your way back to the woods when you come to again.