Most humans will rarely encounter a bear. And that is a good thing. Here in the southern Colorado Rockies we have the Native Black bear. Now don’t be fooled by the coloration in the name.
Black bears can be white, blond or in the case with my two stooges, an adult cinnamon with a shoulder that reached my lettuce hoop, and a new kid. Typical, black and white markings on his chest.
For the sake of clarification, we are going to call the big Red bear, Yogi, and his young accomplice Boo-Boo.
Boo boo was the first to arrive for the backyard party. I was awoken to a crash, and my boxer Jack, growling at the end of my bed. I was on my feet and at the back door in time for Jack to fly out past me, and flush a bear out of the side yard. And here came Boo-Boo staring wide eyed over his shoulder at me as he climbed my fence, with a pullet in his jaws!
I sounded the alarm with a few rounds of my 20ga… and he moved on for the morning.
I came out to what looked like a crime scene with the Hulk gone mad. Feathers for days, metal fencing bent and twisted like it was a soft noodle. And the chaos of frightened bewildered survivors.
So we set to cleaning up the pullet yard and tightened security, wove the fencing with bailing twine (might as well be mithrel the way I wove it) moves motion lights to the back, and got back to daily chores.
That evening sitting at the dinner table around 2300 watching a new Netflix binge of the week, the back motion light came on.
Three nights , two different bears.
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