What Kind of Bears are Those?

I’m asked many questions—some dumber than others—about bears and wildlife. One such stupid question came from Joe Public just a few weeks ago when I was participating in a grizzly bear workshop. Let me be clear. This workshop was hosted by a facility that houses grizzly bears in a zoo-like setting. The bears have indoor and outdoor runs and access to a large yard with a jungle gym. It’s like a zoo, but not. We were working with an immobilized bear, when a large group of spectators began to congregate and ask questions. Many times while working at this facility, I’ve heard, “Are those grizzly bears?” and “Are those black bears?” but not until this day did I hear, “Are those captive bears?”

Miracles do Happen

This is a story for those who love dogs…and those who know my freak of an Aussie. For those of you who don’t know him, let’s just say I could write a book about his antics.

I’ve heard many stories about dogs attacking porcupines and ending up in the vet hospital with a face full of quills. A friend of mine had it happen just last week. When he told me the story, I smiled because not only do I LOVE porcupines, my dog Tucker and I saw one the same day.

While on a hike, I rounded a corner in the road. Tuck was ahead of me, watching something in the bushes and wagging his nub of a tail. He took a step toward it then looked at me and wagged again. I saw the bushes move, so I peeked in for a closer look. There it was, an adorable porcupine waddling through the brush and up the hill.

And for once in my life, Tucker listened to me...and remained quill-less.

I Have Taken My Fair Share of Bears to the Vet Hospital.

One such occasion occurred at two a.m. I got a call from a technician who was feeding the captive bears (yes, at two a.m.).

“You need to get out here,” he said.

“What happened?”

“One of the bears is injured.”

“So badly I need to get out of bed? Did you call the boss?”

“He’s not answering and his machine isn’t picking up.”

Smart man.

“I’ll be there in a few.”

Sure enough, when I arrived, one of the bears was walking funny. We got a flashlight (cause it’s dark at two a.m., we didn’t have outside lights, and the bear wouldn’t come inside) and realized one of her front paws had been torn open so badly we could see bones.

I called my boss again. No answer. Then I called the vet hospital and told them we’d be there with a sub-adult female grizzly in 45 minutes. Then, don’t ask me how (I don’t remember), but somehow, we darted the bear…in the dark.

When we arrived at the vet hospital, one resident and one fourth-year vet student were waiting for us. We pulled the bear off the truck and onto the gurney, and their eyes got huge! Nothing like instilling confidence in your clients.

The resident took a look at the paw and gave us several options. I again called my boss. After all, it was his money. When he didn’t answer, I decided on a minor procedure and antibiotics. When the vet and student started wheeling the bear toward the operating room, they looked back at us and said, “Uh…you coming?”

“Sure,” we said and followed, knowing they were scared shitless.

As the procedure progressed and the fourth year student got more comfortable with the bear and her duty as anesthesiologist, she forgot to pay attention.

“You need to give her more gas,” I said, thinking I saw signs of the bear coming out of the drug.

“Are you sure?” She blankly looked at the bear then me.

Granted, the bear had long burned through the drugs we had administered and I had never seen a bear on isoflurane before. And yes, she was the anesthesiologist, the one with the knowledge and experience with the drug, so no, I wasn’t 100% positive.

That was, until the bear lifted her head and growled.

Rocks for Brains

Sorry for missing last week folks. BOTH, yes both, of my computers died.

I thought I’d take a break from stories about me being chased by wildlife and tell another story about my not so wonderful tech, “Rock Star.”

Rock Star only lasted a month, but in that short time, he gave me quite a bit of material. I’ve told a few driving stories, but none about him. He was one of the worst.

On a particularly long day of work, he was driving toward me in a government truck and going so fast the truck caught air over small bumps in the road. When he slid to a stop next to me, I warned him to drive slowly and stay on the right side of the road, especially around blind corners.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m sorry,” was the response I got.

Five days later, I got a call at home from my boss. One of my crew members had an altercation with Josephine Public on the same day I had warned Rock Star. My crew member almost drove her off the side of the road and didn’t stop. Josephine Public chased down my crew member, demanding an apology. Surprisingly *cough* my crew member wouldn’t apologize. He said she was at fault. So she wrote his license plate number down and reported him. Hence the phone call I received.

Hence, the firing of “Rock Star.”

Killer Koalas

Okay, so they’re not that bad. Actually, they’re quite cute, but sometimes, the males can be real assholes. I was working at a zoo and feeding one such male. As I was feeding him, he climbed out of his tree and came after me. I looked at him and thought, “Are you kidding me? I’ve worked with grizzlies and porcupines and killer caribou! You don’t scare me!” But as he kept waddling after me (koalas are not fast), I wondered what I would do if it decided to climb up my leg and take a bite out of my thigh.

My first instinct was to kick the little sucker. But I quickly realized, I’d get myself in trouble. I imagined the koala flying through the air like a football and smacking against the wall. Then I envisioned myself trying to explain to the koala keepers why one of their beloved koalas was lying broken on the floor. Not wanting to deal with the wrath of the keepers, I changed my tactic.

I ran.

Out of the Frying Pan? I don’t Think so.

One day, years ago, I had to enter a several acre pen to water four caribou—three males and one female. Though the males were quite affectionate, the female had put two adult men in the hospital…and she was not fond of me.

Awesome.

When I got to the pen, the caribou were nowhere in sight. My plan was to slip in, walk down the fence line to fill the water then walk back and slip out. Everything went according to plan. That is, until I got about twenty feet from the gate on my way back from watering. The female had spotted me and she was pissed. She charged me, pinning me against the chain link fence with her antlers. With little else to do, I grabbed them and tried to push her head to the side.

Not too bright.

She reared up and struck out at me with her hooves, missing, but scaring the bejeezus out of me. Thinking I could climb the fence to escape, I looked behind me only to realize I’d climb out of the caribou pen and into a pen with a bull moose. He was standing directly behind me, wondering what all the fuss was about. He definitely would’ve put me in the hospital, if not the morgue.

Just as I thought I was toast, the three male caribou came to my rescue. Two of them chased the female away, while one escorted me safely to the gate.

Think you could do better than me? Then ask yourself this: What would you do if a cute and cuddly Koala chased you down? Or better yet, how would you handle being surrounded by a herd of wild, salt-starved bighorn sheep?

Another Chase Story.

I used to have a captive colony of porcupines. One day we brought in a new guy. His name was Arty and he was scared. Every day for two weeks, I’d try to coax him out of his little hut with an apple or carrot, but he wouldn’t budge. One day, I walked through his enclosure toward another porcupine’s habitat, apples and carrots in hand. As I walked down the hill, I heard a quick thump-thump-thump-thump behind me.

Thump-thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump.

The noise got louder and faster, and my brain slowly processed what was happening. I turned around to be sure. Just as I thought, Arty, the timid little porcupine, was chasing me down.

What did I do?

I ran. Apples and carrots in hand, I ran down the hill, chancing a quick glance over my shoulder. Arty was gaining ground. I dodged left and ran back up the hill, hurdling a log blocking the path. Then, because I didn’t know what else to do, I stopped. I had no idea why this porcupine was chasing me or what he thought he’d do, but I felt silly running from him. I turned in time to see him run up the log and launch himself off the end. I jumped back from the shock of seeing a porcupine soaring through air toward my head, an apple falling from my grasp. When Arty landed at my feet, he crawled after the apple, picked it up and started eating.

From that day on, Arty has been a friendly porcupine.

And I have felt like a complete idiot for running from him.