Wrinkly Bits
A Blog by Gail Cushman
Marcello Montana is Bear Country, in case you haven’t heard. But it’s also Bird Country, and it seems to me the two should be able to co-exist. Apparently not, however.
We had a bear visit us in April. He had his way with the various bird feeders we have accumulated through the years. He knocked them over, licked the heck of them, then went off, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, which he probably didn’t. Only Cody, Cowboy, and I cared.
We went from the neighborhood birds’ favorite food source, to our intruder bear’s favorite food source in one night. What to do? Call the game warden and ask him to chase off the bear. The game warden told us we were an attractive nuisance. I’ve been called a nuisance many times in my life, but never an attractive nuisance. But we did what the game warden suggested, got rid of the bird feeders. Dang. I love watching those woodpeckers, doves, and all the LYBs (Little Yellow Birds) munch from morning to night, not to mention the hen turkey (Henrietta) that waggles and fluffs her feathers to greet us every morning. May, June, and 24 days of July passed, with no bear. Then, he appeared, looking for you-know-what. I snapped a few pictures because seeing a bear in the wild is pretty cool, and he disappeared. Three more days passed, no Yogi.
Then, a few ago, in the middle of the night, I awoke with a start. I’m a sound sleeper, hardly anything rouses me, but Cowboy was screaming at something outside, I mean making more than a joyful noise. I wondered if the Yellowstone Caldera had finally blown its top and some kind of lava rock had bopped Cowboy on his head. I heard galloping, maybe a horse, softer, more like a herd of four-legged somethings, but they were moving out. “The bear’s back,” he told me. “Yogi was right outside the window. Not quite licking his chops, but he was thinking about it. He was only a couple feet from me, but he’s run off now. Check on Cody. and look at those teeth marks on our garden box.” The teeth marks were real, about a foot deep. Not really, they just seemed that deep and there were bunches.
Cody was fine, but spooked a bit by two crazy people in pajamas yelling out the window. He smelled the bear, but wisely cowered a few steps behind Cowboy. I was also cowering behind Cowboy. Apparently, Cody and I think alike.
The next morning, we checked again. Cement bird bath toppled. Water feature turned upside down. Grill was tipped, but not totally toppled and all the tasty, burned steak-fat-curdles were licked clean. Yikes.
Enough is enough, what do we do about the bear who apparently getting more aggressive? Tractor Supply to the rescue! They have everything.
We got a cart and Cowboy started stuffing it with electric fence, charger, stakes, who knows what else, but he filled the cart up, then said to the clerk manning the bear-scaring aisle, “What else do people use to scare bears away?”
The clerk said, “Well, all of that stuff in your basket, but what really scares them away is the big chicken in the front of the store.”
“You mean that black-and-white metal chicken that stands about 6-7 feet tall?”
“That’s the one, it scares the hell out of bears.”
“Let’s take it home,” I said. “Will it fit in the car?”
“No, it’s too big for the car, we’ve gotta get the truck,” Cowboy said. “We mean business.”
We are now the proud parents of Clarence, a 6-foot-high metal chicken. Clarence, the chicken, might scare the hell out of some bears, but not this one. Clarence stands guard at the fence opening so he can scare the bear. Unfortunately, the bear ignores our chicken and passes on by. Perhaps the bear sees Clarence as the entrance marker, meaning, “Good food here, come on in.” He has returned, bullying his way through our bee and butter fly garden. He has figured out how to slide the 300-pound garden box, but he hasn’t figured out how to get it open.
Montana’s bear hunting season opens on September 15, which is just around the corner and I have always wanted a bearskin rug.
