Bears

#2

An Interesting Fact About It:
There are only eight species of bears, but they have a wide range. Bears are found in Asia, Europe, and North and South America.

My Favorite Examples In Animation:
Baloo is certainly one of the greatest fictitious bears out there. He first appeared in the Disney animated film, The Jungle Book, in 1967, and made a comeback in TaleSpin in 1990. His good natured, best friend, teacher, mentor attitude makes him the kind of companion I’d love to have.

The original voice actor of Baloo in The Jungle Book, was Phil Harris. Mr. Harris’s jolly, booming voice led him to several live action and voice acting jobs, but in my mind his best work is in animated films. He was O’Malley the alley cat in The AristoCats, Little John in Disney’s Robin Hood (another bear), and his last role ever was the narrator in Don Bluth’s Rock-A-Doodle. This boisterous, best bud sounds like the voice of my childhood.

Other notable animated bears include Glen Keane’s masterfully animated bear in The Fox and the Hound, Winnie the Pooh (my favorite), and Brother Bear, notable for how terrible the story was. Brother Bear is one of my least favorite disney films, and a poor film in general, but the moose brother commentary bonus feature on the DVD is hilarious.

Personal Experiences:
   It was a late night in 2007 or 2008. A gray, sleepy house sat on the side of a hill, shrouded by a large tree, in the midst of a drowsy wood. All was quiet but for the sounds of a television playing cartoons in the large, burnt orange carpeted living room. Amongst the couches set up like logs ‘round a campfire, a boy of about 19 lay in repose, beginning to feel sleepy.
   Four younger children were already long asleep in their beds on the second floor. The second boy in his large green carpeted room, the third and fourth boys in their blue carpeted, small, bunk bed room. And finally, the youngest, and only sister slept in her little room at the end of the hall which was clustered with pink things. The father had not yet come home from his concert playing oboe with a large orchestra.
   The eldest, Christopher, had begun to drift off in the living room among the couches, watching cartoons. He was considering relocating to his small, corner room filled to the brim with clothes and piles of books and junk, when he heard something.
  At first he thought he was imagining it. There were strange noises in the woods at night all the time. Inexplicable crunching in the woods, various animal calls. Perhaps it was just a rabbit or a raccoon. Perhaps it was just the wind blowing the trees, and felling a branch in the back yard.
   Christopher sat bolt up right, wide awake as distinctive noises sounded from his back door. Inexplicable sounds, yes, but never this close. His eyes began to dart back and forth to various windows surrounding him, looking for any clue as to what these sounds might be. Thinking it might be a robber for the first time in his life at his isolated house, he searched for lights and signs of human activity.
   Finding none, he was forced yet again to acknowledge the forceful sounds at the back door. Heart pounding, his sock covered feet padded softly into the kitchen at the back of the house. Gray heel rolled to white foot rolled to gray toe, painstakingly, softly groping the unlit tiled floor, as the door loomed ever closer.
  He was at the door. Tension built in his chest; he held his breath; he reached out his arm; he put his finger to the light switch; and then….
  In an instant the void of blackness beyond the dim door frame was pulled back, revealing three, large black forms. Three large heads ponderously turned towards the light which had disturbed them. Three toothy snouts, with large black noses, thrust towards Christopher, pointing at him accusingly.
   Christopher jumped back in shock and well placed fear. Three large, dumbfounded black bears looked confusedly towards him, shocked from their blissful pillaging. Below them the wreckage of two garbage cans and their contents was strewn about, parts of the mess still in the large, spiky claws of the three bears.
  For a moment nobody moved. Neither man nor beast was certain of what should happen next. The three bears were considering if this was a threat and if it was worth leaving food for. The boy was wondering whether he should walk away slowly, grateful to be alive, or stand and fight, defending his right to his rubbish.
  Finally, the bears turned back to their sorting. This was no real threat. The light was blinding, and they couldn’t really see much, so they might as well go back to feasting. Christopher stood there in disbelief. Close enough to touch, but for the window on the door between them, these bears continued their ravaging unabashed. He nearly laughed in spite of the situation. How absurd this all seemed! He could pet these beasts if he felt so unwise.
  Trying to figure out what to do or how to scare them off, he looked around. There seemed to be nothing for it. He began to open the inner door. As he pulled in, the suction of air from the inner door, made a familiar pounding sound on the outer, glass door, and then the three bears were off. Without looking back, they bolted. Ears told the beasts what their poor vision could not: the threat was real and imminent. Fortunately for the boy, their ears couldn’t tell them what kind of odds they were facing.
  The boy opened the glass door and breathed a sigh of relief. Looking at the ground and the mess, he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He giggled stupidly to himself, feeling giddy at the rush of what had just happened. He turned around, looking in every direction, trying to make sure this was real, and searching for someone to tell this to. There was no one of course, so he wobbled back to the living room, sitting down on the edge of the couch, pressing play on the cartoon without knowing what he was doing.
   After a few minutes had gone by, he began to sag back down on the couch, his eyelids beginning to droop again. The magic began to fade.
  But then again…
Another noise sounded from the back door. Christopher leaped up. Half running back into the kitchen, Christopher turned on the back light at the door again. Three large heads rolled towards him yet again, but this time quickly went back to what they were doing. Now Christopher was jumping up and down excitedly. His heart was racing even faster than before, but rather than reaching for the door, he went back into the dark hallway and into his room.
   Tripping and jumping over piles of stuff, Christopher stood on tiptoe and reached to the upper shelf in his closet. He felt the cool metal against his fingertips, and pulled down a long black thing. Hopping over to a dresser he opened the top drawer and pulled out a plastic container and a black, metal, heavy can.
   Moments later Christopher was in his kitchen holding his fully assembled Tipman 98 Custom with the flat line barrel, hopper and CO2 tank attached. Complete with orange paintballs that splattered pink paint, he was now fully equipped with his trusted paintball gun. Turning towards a different door, Christopher walked into the bathroom just next to the kitchen. In the dark he crept towards the window which looked out over the garbage pails. Shakily he pulled back the blinds millimeters at a time. He undid the lock; he pulled up on the window. He could see the bears through the window, right there in front of him.
   He was practically bursting with excitement, and this time with more confidence. An entire wall stood between him and the bears now, not just a flimsy, glass outer door. This was so perfect: he couldn’t fail. Inch by inch, droplets of sweat forming on his brow, the window was opening. A little more, just a little more. The bears were greedily raking at piles of garbage. The wrinkles on Christopher’s forehead grew deeper, his upper arms began to ache, his shoulders trembled.
SCRRRAAAAPPPEEE.
   He couldn’t keep the old window from crying out as he pulled it upward. The bears were already lumbering into darkness and the obscurity of the woods.
   Christopher flung the window the rest of the way open, lined up barrel to opening, and stock to shoulder, and began firing. 5, 10, 15 shots into the black woods. But it was already too late. The bears were long gone before he could get a single shot off. In disappointment he continued firing, but to make sure to scare them off he fired a few well placed blots at the slide of his old swing set. The tin looking slide made a magnificent din as ball after paintball hit home.
   The bears didn’t come back, and Christopher didn’t worry they would. He couldn’t sleep. Half an hour later a car hummed down the long stretch of driveway, and excitedly the boy ran out to greet his father in the night, jumping up and down and showing off his paintball gun as he recounted the story to his father.