Do bears sleep in the woods?

Did you ever wonder where bears go in the winter? I think I found the place. The Thrift Shop.

Every time J and I visit the local thrift stores, whether they are Thrift Shops or Salvation Army stores or Goodwill outlets, we inevitably see evidence that bears hibernate in these stores by choice.

First, they put a tag on their toes, with a number on it. This number apparently is a warning to whoever interrupts their sleep that there will be some small price to pay for this action.

Then, they find themselves a place to hang out, which may sometimes be a hook or a shelf, or a table or even an old couch or rocking chair. I have seen a number of them holed up in a big hammock made of netting. As soon as things settle down, they apparently go to sleep. I always think that the ones that hang upside down are somewhat batty.

In the light of global warming, this strange habit of bears may be a good thing. Even in cold, remote Russia, there are bears that are going without hibernating. It is important, I think, that some bears, not just sun-bears, preserve this longstanding tradition of hibernation.

When you approach a tagged bear and turn over its toe tag to see what its number is, it inevitably wakes up and leaps into your arms. It seems heartless to put the animal back after that. And so a bear or two will generally find itself snuggling into your bed or a bookshelf or a mantel, settling back into a far more comfortable state of hibernation.

The latest one is Ferguson.

We're all here to learn

When I was little and couldn't sleep
But wasn't allowed to creep or peep
Downstairs to see the adult folks
To join in the laughter and the jokes
But had to stay in bed instead
While fun sounds echoed in my head
I learned to hug my gray bear tight
To deal with the sorrows of the night
To hear him agree with all I said
To follow my thoughts wherever they led,
The promises whispered to the bear
That we would vow never to share
With adults on the floor below
Because they had no right to know.

As time has flown, some other bears
Have suffered through my list of cares
And shared the secrets of my heart
And whatever else I might impart
To furry ears knowing full well
The secret's safe: they'd never tell.

In retrospect a downside, too,
A countervailing point of view:
By "bearying" my secret life
I made it harder for my wife
To understand some of my acts
Which did not tally with the facts.
For buttons pushed should not result
In instant rage in an adult.
Those buttons labeled "DISAPPROVE"
When pushed are antidotes to love
And, pushed enough, the bonds will break
And love is something you can't fake.

The sad thing is, it's taken years
To learn the Secret of the Bears:
That there are other buttons, too
And most of us have quite a few.
Some are labeled "Love" and "Truth"
(Though they were there all through my youth
They seemed difficult to find
Much moreso than the other kind).

Now ones marked "Listen" and "Understand"
Are closer to my outstretched hand,
And since they know I've found the cure,
The bears are happier, I'm sure.

To sleep, perchance to dream

Every fall in Alaska the grizzlies gather along the McNeil River to participate in a banquet that they probably call "The Fillet Fest". We've all seen it on TV. Big brown bears, gorging on salmon until they can't hold any more. Soon, they go to sleep for the winter, except for the ones that can't sleep because it's too warm.

I guess I'm like that. When I go to sleep, it's usually after I've had my fill of fruits and vegetables and nuts and berries. And then I'll hibernate from about 11:30 p.m. until about 3:30 a.m. when I awake because the electric blanket is too warm. It was too cold when I started.

I think what I'm gonna try is one of those timers that lets you set multiple hours for on and off. In other words, crank the thing on at 11:00, and off at midnight. Then on at 1:00 and off at 2:00. Maybe that intermittence would cure or at least confuse whatever is in my body thermostat that makes me fluctuate into wakefulness.

Maybe if I dreamed I was a bear, watching for salmon and scooping them out and chowing down on them until I could hold no more, I'd sleep through the night, just like they sleep through the winter. But I've never been able to program my dreams. Some people can do this, and others remember (and many recount) every detail. I can't. Besides, I don't like sushi.

I think the dreams that matter are the ones you have when you are awake. They're the ones about which you can consciously say, "I have a dream..." rather than "I dreamed..."