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“Just right,” said Poppa Bear, and he ate her all up.
Any bear could demand enough food granted heavy intra-jurisdictional kumquat lobbying makes naughty outcroppings pay quality royalty sales that usher values with X-rated yoga zest.
I keep thinking that I’ve written a sentence about bipolar bears, and that the sentence involves some sort of witty wordplay, like I’ve written about a new kind of bear that no one has ever heard of that’s not a polar bear, but a bipolar bear, and because of this play on words, the sentence ends up being very interesting and even a little funny; this, of course, is not that sentence.
Sure you can kill a bear then gut it out and climb inside the body cavity to survive the extreme cold, and maybe then, after all that work and trouble, you’ll remember - never forget the tent!
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I looked both ways and then lay down and took a nap, and that has made all the difference.
“And let us remember Kyle as a kind, gentle, and certainly simple soul, keeping in mind that he joined the Rescue Rangers out of compassion and concern for the general welfare of all animals, and that his joining came immediately after viewing the Rangers’ training video, Baby Raccoons, Cute and Cuddly, although in hindsight, perhaps things would have turned out much differently if he’d begun his Rangers’ career with something that might have ended up saving his young life, and I speak here specifically about the Rangers’ video The Bear Cage: Why We Stay Out.”
It surprises many to find out that more campers are killed each year by falling trees than bear attacks, although if you take away the numbers for the trees that have fallen due to some sort of sabotage by an angry spouse, the numbers are about even.
Bear sat in the middle of the stream and let the salmon come to him.
On the sunny side of the patch, up high, Bear found the first ripe blackberries of the year.
Sated, Bear napped under the shade of a cedar tree next to a field of summer wildflowers which was abuzz with the sound of bees.
Bear startled at the hiss from the aluminum can when he bit it, but quickly discovered he liked the contents of the case of beer the panicked picnickers had left behind.
Bear, being unable to read, was not bothered by the world news as the discarded newspaper fluttered quite prettily on the dancing breeze over the field of wildflowers.
“This explains it,” said the park ranger to the sherrif, surveying the shredded wreckage of what used to be six port-a-potties and pointing to the toilet paper dispenser, “someone put the paper in down the back instead of over the top.”
Bear could only count to four (using all his paws) but 1,2, 3, 4 and “many” were all the numbers Bear needed.
The man had left something valuable under the tree. Maybe it was a pie.
Some days are so beautiful, breezy and gentle that you wish you were a bear lolling about in your very own field of flowers.
As Little Bear ate his fill of smoked salmon, it crossed his mind that opposable thumbs and control of fire had certain benefits, but then he looked at the door of the smokehouse which he’d just ripped from its hinges for the third year in a row and decided he liked his claws and massive strength just fine.
A bear is not ever only a bear.
Little Bear sniffed at the battered old textbook that some thoughtless person had left lying beneath his favorite tree, puzzled briefly over the overlong title G-R-A-M-M-A-R, which made no sense whatsoever, decided it did not belong, picked it up gently, carried it several miles through the the forest to the town garbage dump and discarded it where it clearly belonged.
Becky twisted and twirled and a rain of happiness and glowing light cascaded from the sky, coalescing in a hive of honey for the very happy Little Bear.
Little Bear opened one sleepy eye to check if it was nearing dinnertime and discovered that in the space of just his afternoon nap the first tulip of spring had pushed its sprout half an inch out of the sun-warmed soil and was tickling his nose.
This is better than honey, thought Little Bear happily as he leaned against his favorite tree and gently licked at the giant lollipop the sweet little girl had dropped when her father grabbed her and dragged her away screaming about “the Mamma Bear must be around here somewhere, run!” when he caught her holding her lolli out to give Little Bear a lick.
Hearing a strange noise, Little Bear looked up and saw a bird… no, not a bird, some kind of really noisy tin can, flying high overhead, and thinking the sky is a stupid place to put one’s garbage went back to watching the bees pollinating the blackberry flowers.
Amidst the buzzing of the bees, Little Bear looked on while gnawing great chunks of honeycomb and beehive, as the human meticulously spread a thin, glistening layer of honey on bread.
People are so thoughtful mused Little Bear as he removed the top from the third in the neat row of beehives someone had placed along the edge of his field of wildflowers.
If your guests appear skeptical when you explain that all the old, empty pizza boxes lying around the living room help keep away raccoons and bears, don’t even try to explain the opossum that’s nesting in the dirty laundry in the bathroom.
He’d not once imagined his skin looking this old, he thought, and suddenly—yikes!—he realized he’d never imagined being run over by a bicycle riding bear, but no doubt that was in his future, too.
(V) 1. The act of running up a tree to escape a hungry grizzly that has got a whiff of your double bacon cheeseburger, 2. A group of adolescent boys poking a sleeping bear with a stick, 3. Shaving the back of an extremely hairy Caucasian or Iranian male.
I’m pretty sure the headache you get when you have too many opposing choices is down to the loud collision the conflict bears make each time they crash together.
I've now learned that waking up does not necessarily mean the persistent grizzly bear in your head won't start chasing you through a second dreadful dream.
The whole scenario began to fall apart once Gertrude asked Larry to pass the honey.
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