Bub, Snow, and the Burly Bear Scare

by Carol Wallace

  “Okay, but we have to hurry. It’s almost time to go to school. I heard the snowplow when it went by this morning. The bus won’t be late today.”

  The round pudgy people wobbled off toward the ridge on the far side of the valley. I glanced around for Mother. She must still be foraging.

  When I got to the fence, I had to lean down so I could look between the big logs to see the large animals better. These things were huge. They were about the size of Father. Maybe even a little bit bigger. They had their heads down foraging inside the pen.

  “Snort!”

  I jumped back. One of the animals was looking right at me. Suddenly I didn’t feel very brave anymore.

  “What are you?”

  “I’m Bub Moose!” I tried to sound as big and strong as I could. “We came from another valley. My . . . my mother and I are looking for food. What . . . what are you?”

  “They call me Raney and this is Sweet Pea. We work here. We pull a big sleigh. They call us draft horses.”

  “I saw a cow once. You kind of look like her.”

  “A cow!” Sweet Pea exclaimed. “Like . . . whatever are you thinking? Cows are . . . like, stupid. We aren’t stupid. We are strong and beautiful. I came from California. You know, the Valley. The Valley is the coolest place. Like, there are people everywhere and shops, and . . .”

  The other horse gave a little snort.

  “I thought you told me the Valley was warm.” She frowned at Sweet Pea over the top of the feed bucket.

  Sweet Pea glanced at her and fluttered her eyes. “Like, really. In summer it’s totally hot.”

  Raney stopped munching her food. “But just now you said the Valley was cool.”

  Sweet Pea’s head flopped over to one side. “Okay, we took people on hayrides in a big wagon. They talked and sang songs and there was always something to do. So . . . that was cool. But . . . well . . . like, it’s cold here and warm there. And—well, it’s like a different kind of cool. Okay?”

  The horse shrugged her ears and stuck her head back in the bucket. Sweet Pea sighed and winked at me. “Sorry. Sometimes I get like totally carried away. Raney is from Indiana. We were picked because we are totally awesome. We aren’t stupid like cows, are we, Raney?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. I really don’t know many cows.” Raney bit into the grassy food in front of her.

  “What are you eating? It looks really good.” I moved a little closer to the fence.

  “Duh . . . it’s hay. We get hay and oats two times a day. Do you want some? There is enough for you.”

  “I’d better not. Mother would be mad at me. She may be mad anyway ‘cause I’m not where I’m supposed to be.” Sniffing the ground, I moved just a bit closer to the pen. It did smell delicious.

  “Go get your mama. We have bunches and bunches. They always bring us PL . . . EN . . . TY!”

  “I . . . I . . . I don’t know. It smells wonderful. But . . .” I stretched my nose between the logs of the fence, then quickly pulled back.

  “Tell you what, Little Sweetie. We’ll save enough for you and your mama. You can bring her around anytime, and there will be some here for you. We have oats and sweet feed to finish up with. That’s our favorite. You do need to get your Mama down here and eat the hay before they bring us more this evening. Our people won’t give us food if there is still some lying around.” Raney tossed her head and trotted to the bucket on the fence.

  “That would be great. Mother will be proud of me for finding her some food to eat.” I stepped back just a little from the fence. “Thank you.”

  “You are . . . totally . . . welcome. We’ll share with you . . . like . . . anytime.” Sweet Pea turned away from her hay and headed to the other bucket.

  A chill raced between my shoulders. I perked my ears and listened. The two people were coming back toward the pen. Frightened, I hurried to the shadows of the fir tree near the barn.

  “Hey, look at that. It looks like a pony. But what is it, Jussy?”

  “Be quiet, Jane. You’ll scare it. I think it’s a baby moose. We have to be really careful. If its mother thinks that we are going to harm it, we could be in real trouble.”

  The people stopped near the bottom of the hill and just stood there for a long time. Finally they moved slowly until they were near the big log cabin. Standing as still and motionless as the fir tree, I watched them. I never closed my eyes. I didn’t even blink. After a while they quietly turned and disappeared into the building.

  The people made me a bit nervous. I glanced back at Raney and Sweet Pea. Still eating from the buckets on the fence, they didn’t seem the least bit worried. Surely there was no reason for Mother to be afraid to come and eat. Suddenly both of the horses perked their ears and looked toward the snow-covered meadow. I heard it just then, too.

  “HRR-ONK! HRR-ONK! Bub Moose, where are you?” I saw Mother near the road in front of the cabin. She was calling as loud as she could.

  Instantly my feet took me running toward her. Adventure time was over. I had to tell Mother about the horses that I had met. She would be happy to know that they would share their food. Mother would be soooo excited.

  Chapter 6

  “HRRONK! Bub Moose!” Mother trumpeted louder than I had ever heard before.

  Lunging and bounding, I raced toward the sound of her voice. There was something different about her call. Something scared or hurt or . . . I charged faster through the soft white powder. The sun peeked above the ridge behind the people cabin. Even at my back the bright sunshine made the snow so shiny that it almost hurt my eyes. Squinting, I tried to find Mother. It was hard to see, but I finally spotted her. Long neck stretched up toward the sky, she called me again. What if she was hurt?

  “Mother! What’s wrong? I’m coming.” I galloped toward the place where she stood. My hooves dug into the snow as I bounded across the clearing and charged up a tiny rise.

  Then . . .

  The snow was gone. My hooves dug into nothing but air. My eyes flashed. My heart leaped into my throat. I was falling.

  I guess I kind of forgot about the two steep ridges of snow that the big people machine had left. When I topped the little rise, I remembered. Only it was too late to stop. There was nothing below but the black shiny road—and it was way, way down there. My front legs stretched out and went stiff. I couldn’t stop. When I finally touched the snow, I slid for a ways. But instead of slowing down, I only went faster and faster.

  Then I lost it.

  Next thing I knew I was on my back in the middle of the hard, black road and the whole world was kind of spinning and wobbling around me.

  “Bub! Do not play in the road!”

  “Huh? What?”

  Mother stood at the crest of the other snowbank above me. Looking very stern, she glared down.

  “Children don’t play in the road. It’s too dangerous. Get out of there, right now!”

  I got about halfway to her when my hooves slipped out from under me. My legs crossed as I tried to catch my balance. At the bottom of the hill I was on my rump with my legs in a tangled mess.

  “Hrronk!” I squeaked.

  “Bub Moose, I mean it. You get up here, right this instant!”

  I unscrambled my legs and hopped to my feet. When I finally made it to the top and to Mother’s side, I bumped her with my nose to let her know I wanted some milk. She squirmed to the side and shoved me away with her big hoof.

  “You can eat in a moment. First, I want to know where you have been. I searched all over. I couldn’t find you.”

  “I . . . ah . . . er . . . I slipped when I jumped over that pile of snow and I fell. I really wasn’t playing in the road.”

  Mother’s look was stern. “Before the road. Where were you?”

  “I . . . was . . . ah . . . exploring. Yeah, that’s it. I was exploring the valley. I got an idea. Why don’t we go up that way? I bet there are some really good places to forage and—”

  “Don’t change the subject. Where have you been
? I have been looking for you. When we forage, you are supposed to stay close enough to see me at all times. You certainly haven’t seen me for a long while!” Mother’s eyes didn’t look soft and sweet as she stared at me.

  “What’s wrong. Are you hurt? I heard you calling for me, but these mountains of snow are in the way. I was hurrying to get to you.” I tucked my head a little.

  “Bub, you are doing it again. Where were you?” Mother stared straight at me.

  “I . . . I . . . I met some new friends.”

  “Not people!” Mother looked shocked.

  “No.” I shook my head. “They were horses. Really big horses. They live behind the log building. Raney came from Indiana. Is that like a different part of our forest?”

  Mother didn’t answer. She just looked at me.

  “And Sweet Pea came from the Valley,” I went on. “Only, she didn’t say which valley. She talks kind of funny, but they’re both really nice. Honest. They said they were draft horses and they pull a wagon and a sleigh and they have food and they want us to come and share it with them. Sweet Pea told me to get you. She said that there was plenty for us.” I shook my head and tried to straighten my fur.

  “You were near the people cabin, weren’t you?”

  “Well, not really. Well . . . ah . . . sort of.”

  “I told you that there are people here. You can’t be too careful with them around. Come on, we have to get away from this place.” Mother shoved at my rear.

  “But, Mother, you don’t understand. There is a big pile of food for us. All we have to do is go eat it. Sweet Pea and Raney are saving it just for us. They said that we need to get it before the people come back with more, or they won’t leave them any. We have to help them eat it up.” I stood firm in my tracks.

  “Little Bub Moose. You don’t understand. Those horses belong to the people. They depend on them to bring food. We don’t belong to anyone. We are on our own, and we have to take care of ourselves. Now, come on. We have to move away before more people come and see us.”

  “I saw the people. They didn’t look dangerous. They were kind of round and roly-poly. I don’t think they would hurt us.”

  “Bub Moose, did they see you?” Mother stared down at me.

  “Uh . . . I don’t think so. I mean no. No one saw me,” I lied. Well, it wasn’t a big lie—just a little one.

  “We have to go. People will be moving around, now that the storm is over.” Mother nudged me again.

  “But there is plenty of food. It smells really good. I’m hungry.”

  “Let’s go, Bub Moose.” Mother kissed my cheek with her long, rough tongue.

  Head low, I followed close behind her as we trudged up the valley. My stomach felt grumbly, but I knew that I better listen to Mother. We just made it to the edge of the trees when all at once Mother turned her big head and perked her ears. She looked back to where we had been. I stretched out my legs and stared in the same direction. A loud roar came toward us. Standing perfectly still, I searched the wide space in front of me. I finally spotted something moving toward the buildings where the people lived.

  “Stay very still, Little Bub Moose. It’s a bus coming for the children in the cabin.” Mother barely moved to breathe.

  A huge yellow car barreled down the road and stopped near the building that we had been so close to. The two roly-poly people waddled quickly toward it. I didn’t blink as I watched to see what would happen next.

  Just before they got to the enormous yellow car, one of the people started pointing at me. I stepped back a bit. The person raised a front leg and began shaking it back and forth. Loud sounds came from inside the big yellow car, but I wasn’t sure what I heard.

  The two pudgy people disappeared through the opening. The clamor started again, and then it roared away.

  “What was that about, Bub?” Mother turned her head to the side and stared at me with one eye. It wasn’t a soft brown eye, either.

  “Wh-what?” I mumbled.

  “That girl. She waved at you. You said that no one had seen you.” Mother lowered her head, and the one angry eye looked straight into me.

  “I . . . I don’t know. Maybe she was happy to see you! I don’t know.” Head down and holding my breath, I started foraging for food once more. Behind me I heard Mother give a little snort.

  I followed close, just as I was supposed to. Except for dry twigs, there wasn’t much to eat in the trees. We wandered farther up the valley, toward the high country. Every now and then I could hear Mother’s tummy rumble. I bet if we had shared the hay Raney and Sweet Pea offered, she would be full and happy. I didn’t say anything, though.

  Once away from the people place and the road and the big yellow bus, we left the shelter of the trees and moved into the clearing. There, beneath the snow, we found some dry grass to nibble. I used my hooves to scratch at the snow on the ground. We moved farther and farther away from the buildings and the people. We foraged for hours.

  Why wouldn’t Mother believe that it was safe to eat the hay? Why wouldn’t she listen to me? I bet Raney and Sweet Pea could convince her that it was okay. If only she would talk to them, I bet . . .

  I suddenly noticed that Mother had stopped hunting for food. She stood still as a rock, with her head high and her ears perked. She was holding her breath.

  Listening, I froze, too.

  “I don’t hear anything but my stomach growling.” I whispered, feeling tired and hungry.

  “Hush. Listen to the sounds in the trees.” Mother wobbled her ears toward a spot just ahead of us.

  “Where? I don’t hear anything.” I tried to focus all of my attention on where she was staring. My stomach growled. It was so loud that I couldn’t even think about the sounds, much less hear anything.

  “I recognize those noises. I just haven’t heard them in the wintertime. This isn’t the right time to hear these sounds,” Mother said.

  I watched the trees. Suddenly my ears caught the sound that she had heard. I had heard it before, too.

  Clunking and rustling noises were just beyond the edge of the forest. I glanced up at Mother. She stepped closer to the safety of the trees. Nervous and jittery, I followed her. My hooves were ready to run back to the buildings if I needed to. Mother was afraid of the people. For some reason, I felt safer with the people than I did here.

  “Crunch, crunch. Gnaw. Scrape. Gnaw.” The noises grew louder.

  “Is that Dudley?” I whispered.

  Mother shushed me.

  “Can’t believe it,” a strange distant voice mumbled. “Work and slave all spring and summer—clear into the fall—and this is what I get. Cut trees until my front teeth are down to the nubs. Drag the things across the valley. Work my tail to the bone. And this—this is the thanks I get.”

  There were more crunching and gnawing sounds.

  “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t even know old Burly was within miles of that tree. I didn’t mean to.” There was a long sigh. “Rotten luck. That’s all. Now I’m stuck out here in the freezing cold. I can’t even feel my feet anymore. Can’t believe it. Just can’t believe it!”

  Chapter 7

  “Look, Mother. It’s Dudley.”

  We stared at the beaver as he sat on a mound of tree limbs that poked out of the snow.

  “I don’t think that’s Dudley. Dudley’s tucked safely in his lodge back at his own pond.” Frowning, Mother tilted her head to one side. “Besides, beavers don’t work during the winter. They stay in their lodges because their ponds are frozen. Why would a beaver be working in this cold?” Mother shrugged and turned away to forage under the trees.

  “I can’t believe that this keeps happening to me! Just about the time I get things fixed up, crash, boom, I have to start all over again.” The beaver glared down at the top of the mound in the pond.

  I studied him for a moment. Buckteeth. Big flat tail. That just had to be Dudley. Slowly I ambled from the safety of the trees for a closer look.

  “Hello. Is that you,
Dudley?” I called out.

  Balancing on his tail and hind legs, the beaver sat up and looked around.

  “What? Who’s there?”

  “Hey, Dudley. Remember me? What are you doing here?”

  Ice cracked when I stepped in the snow at the edge of the pond. His little ears perked, and he squinted toward me.

  “Get back, kid. Are you trying to wreck things more than they already are? I can’t take it.” The beaver stood at the edge of the mound and shook his front paw at me.

  “Don’t you remember me? I’m Bub Moose. You helped give me my name. Don’t you recognize me?” Giving him my best profile, I looked up toward the sky.

  “Hey, kid, what do you think? I’m not Dudley. Dudley is my dad. He’s back at the big pond with all the little squirts. He never had bad luck like this. He has the perfect home. Nobody ever comes around there busting up his place.” With a sigh, he picked up a limb in his teeth and stuck it on top of the mound. “Just about the time I get this thing fixed so I can relax a little, here he comes, charging out of nowhere, to tear it up.”

  “If you’re not Dudley, then who are you? You look just like him.” I stared.

  “You can call me Chippy. If you know my dad, then you are a long way from home. I got booted out of his pond when the last kits came. I walked forever to find a place that wasn’t already loaded with beavers.” The beaver picked the limb back up, turned it just a little, then stuck it back in the mound.

  “My mother and I just came here. We are looking for a good place to forage. The big storm covered up all the food. Do you know of any good places to eat?”

  “You’ve got to be joking. I don’t have time to eat. Don’t have time to sleep. If I so much as close my eyes, here he comes, crashing through the trees, smashing everything in sight. First time he tore up my beaver dam. Just barely got it put back together before the freeze. If I hadn’t had water around my lodge . . .” He turned and tapped the limb down with his tail. “Mostly he tears up my lodge.”