Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?

We had been hiking for almost an hour, over a meadow, through the wood (though nowhere near Grandma’s house), through a very dark Hansel and Gretal, some witch is going to eat us wood, then through a semi-dark wood. We had passed an unusually high number of mounds of poop, considering we had yet to see any wildlife. I was leading, saying to Em, “I love walking through the woods. The pine needles are so soft, a spongey carpet of goodness, — oh crap.” Literally. “Watch out, Em, it looks super fresh, be careful.”

Grrrrrllll.

We looked at each other and it became louder, “GGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLLLLL.” At once, with lightning speed, conflicting thoughts ran through my head: We’re in California – black, brown, or grizzly? Stay small or get big? Run or play dead? I then realized most of my knowledge of bears came from nursery rhymes and Bill Bryson.

Emily must have read my mind, “I think we’re supposed to make a lot of noise. Let’s sing.” As if by magic, we simultaneously burst into a very bad rendition of “Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It’s Off To Work We Go.” Sure thing to ward off any predator.

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