Chapter 9
One morning I slept in. I felt so warm and cozy that I just didn’t want to get up. Lying there for a while, I noticed this strange feeling creep over me. I tried to lift my head to see if our food was in the clearing yet. Only my head wouldn’t move. Now I felt really strange. It was like something was holding me. I blinked and opened my eyes. I couldn’t see!
Startled and scared both, I sprang to my feet.
Okay . . . I didn’t spring. I struggled and jerked and squirmed. Finally I gave a mighty lunge and stood up. It was unbelievable. There was snow everywhere. Deep new powder covered the entire world. I glanced back at my bed. There was nothing there but a round hole with snow piled at the edges. No wonder I felt so strange. I was buried.
“Mother, do you see this? I can’t believe it. I’ve never seen so much snow. Mother? Mother?”
There was a crunching sound beside me. Soft white powder flew into the air as Mother’s head popped through the crust.
Startled, I jumped back. Only my hind feet were buried deeper than I thought. So . . . I jumped back with my front feet and my back feet just stuck in the snow. I ended up, sitting down, smack-dab on my bottom.
Mother looked at me and blinked a couple of times. I blinked back at her.
I started giggling at the sight in front of me. Mother looked so funny. All I could see was her big beautiful face and head. Her large ears flipped at the snow that covered them.
“You look pretty funny yourself, Little Bub,” Mother said.
I glanced around at my rear end. My bottom was buried in the big pile of white powder. When I wiggled my short tail, snow flew around in swirls. After easing my back legs free, I stood on the big pile of snow and shook from my head to my rump.
“Let’s go. I’m hungry,” I begged Mother.
“I want to stay here just a little longer, Bub. This snow cover is warm and comfortable.”
“But . . . I’m starving!” I begged.
“Bub Moose, you can go on ahead and look for the hay. Watch for the people, though. I haven’t heard the bus this morning. I want to rest just a little bit longer. I’ll be there in a while.”
“I’ll watch for the people. I’ll be careful.” I felt big and almost grown-up because Mother trusted me to go look for the hay pile by myself. Listening and watching, I marched proudly to the spot where the hay usually was. It wasn’t there. Scratching the snow with my big hooves, I tried to find a bite that we had missed yesterday. There wasn’t even a flake of hay. My tummy growled. My ears drooped.
In the distance I could see the two big horses standing with their heads over the fence. They weren’t eating, either. I crossed the open pasture and the road.
“Hey, Bub,” Raney called when I strolled up to their pen. “They haven’t brought the hay out yet. The big snow has caused them to be late.”
Sweet Pea whinnied and nodded her head.
“Well, yeah, they’re late because of the snow. It’s like Christmas vacation, too. And . . . you know . . . like, kids get a kick out of sleeping late during vacations.”
My head leaned way to one side. “They get kicked? Vacation?”
“Jane and Justin don’t have to go to school today,” Raney explained. “They like to sleep late.”
“We don’t get Christmas vacation.” Sweet Pea curled her top lip way back. “It’s vacation for the people, but a total drag for us. Man, like, we do two hay rides every day. More people show up at the ski resort. We work twice as hard. For them, it’s partytime.”
My mouth fell open. I turned to Raney. She shrugged her ears, as if to say that she had no idea what Sweet Pea was talking about, either.
A loud noise near the house made my head snap around. Jane and Jussy waddled toward the barn. Though I had watched them a lot from the safety of the trees, I had never been this close before. My feet seemed to freeze to the ground as I stared at them. If I didn’t move, maybe they wouldn’t see me. I watched as they went into the barn, then came out carrying piles of that delicious hay.
A soft growl came to my ears as my tummy began to talk to me. I couldn’t move. I just stood there staring at the delicious food.
“Look, Jane,” Jussy whispered. “It’s the baby moose.”
Under the bright orange fur that covered her head, Jane’s little mouth curled up on both sides. Her eyes got almost as big as mine. “Come here, little Moosie. We have some breakfast for you.”
Flicking my ears, I looked around for Mother. Jane and Jussy looked bigger than I thought. Jussy stopped, but Jane moved a bit closer.
“Little Moosie, come here. This is for you.” Jane dropped the hay, then squatted down in the snow close to it.
I took a small step. I let out a little warning snort to let her know that I wasn’t afraid. Dropping my head, I put my nose into the hay. Jane sat very, very still while I ate for a while. Finally—ever so slowly—she eased to her knees and leaned toward me. I stopped munching the hay, but I didn’t move. She leaned closer.
“It’s okay, baby Moosie. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” Jane’s voice was gentle and sweet.
I looked into the little people’s eyes. They twinkled as bright as the white snow. There was no mean or evil in her look. I could sense no danger. Lifting my head ever so slightly, I took a step closer.
Kneeling on the ground, Jane was shorter than I was. Slow as a fall leaf fluttering to the ground, she reached out a hoof (I mean, hand). I watched as it moved toward my head. Her eyes were bright and warm. I blinked and licked my lips. Not quite as slow or cautious, I leaned forward. Jane let out a little giggle as she touched the fur behind my ear.
At first her touch felt strange. It made me just a little nervous. But the more she rubbed and scratched behind my ears, the better it felt. Jussy scooted up on his knees. He reached out and stroked my neck. That didn’t feel too bad, either.
Then I saw the mother people. She stood a little ways from us. I could see the tracks in the snow, behind her, but she wasn’t coming toward us. She seemed almost frozen—tall and as stiff as a pine tree. Her face was stern and worried, only she wasn’t looking at us. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Mother at the edge of the trees. Her face was worried, too. She watched us, then she looked at the people mother, then she watched us again.
“Jane. Justin.” The mother people’s soft voice didn’t seem to go with the tense look on her face. “Both of you stop petting the moose. I want you to back away—very slowly.”
Justin scooted back on his knees. Jane didn’t follow. She giggled again and stroked my long ear. I flipped it. Justin reached forward and tugged at her fur. “Jane. Something’s wrong. You’d better mind Mama.”
“But the little moosie is so sweet. Can’t we—”
“Jane!” The mother’s growl was soft as a whisper. “Right this minute!”
The little girl blinked her eyes at me and smiled. I blinked back and waved with my ears as she scooted off. Once away from me, both of them got to their feet. Justin latched on to the fur at the back of her neck. Watching my mother, over his shoulder, he made Jane walk with him as they moved slowly back toward the house.
Mother’s nostrils flared. Steam puffed from them like the clouds of white that puffed from the snowblower. “Bub Moose,” she hrronked. “Do not run. If you run, they might chase you. Turn very slowly and walk to me.”
“But, Mother. They were nice. They weren’t trying to hurt me. And—”
“Bub Moose! Now!”
As loud and angry as Mother’s voice was, it was hard for me to walk. I wanted to run. Only, there was something about her tone that made me do what she told me to. The mother people did not turn when Jane and Jussy reached her. Walking backward, she eased away from us.
Once they were at the cabin, the mother was not happy.
“You’re eight years old,” she scolded Jane. “You know better than to get that close to a moose. They are very dangerous animals and—”
“But, Mama. The baby moose was sweet. He like
d me petting behind his ears and—”
“You didn’t even see the mother moose, did you? Do you know what would have happened if she thought you were hurting her baby? Do you have any idea what would have happened to you two if she had charged . . . ?” The mother stopped and turned to Justin. She shook her finger right under his nose. “And you, young man. You’re in fifth grade. You’re supposed to take care of your little sister. If I ever . . .” Her voice faded as they moved inside the people cabin.
Smiling, I trotted up beside Mother and leaned down for some milk. She moved away from me. Steam still puffed from her flared nostrils. I moved again and reached for some breakfast. Mother spun. She lowered her head and butted me on the bottom. It was not a friendly or an affectionate butt, either. It hurt.
“I have warned you about getting near the people,” she scolded. “I’ve told you how dangerous they are. And what do you do?”
“The little people are sweet, Mother. They were nice to me. I think they want to be friends.”
Mother butted me again. “You can’t be friends with people. They are far too dangerous. If I ever catch you that near to them again . . .” She let out a snort and butted me one more time.
As we walked up the valley to forage, I tried to tell Mother about the people. I told her how funny their touch felt at first, but how nice it was, once I got used to it. She didn’t say anything. I told her how gentle the people were and how there was no feel of danger or worry when they were near. Mother looked back at me and gave a heavy sigh. Still, she didn’t say anything.
“I am so fed up with this,” a distant voice made my ears perk. “Three times. First the dam. Then the lodge. Now the lodge again.”
“Who said that?” I asked Mother.
She nodded toward the pond. “I believe it was Chippy.”
We both stopped and stood a moment, listening.
“I think I’ll just lie down here in the snow,” the voice said. “There’s no use going on. I’m so depressed, I think I’ll just give up.”
Following Mother to the edge of the pond, I could see Chippy’s beaver lodge out on the ice. Well—I could see what was left of it. There were limbs and dirt scattered all over the smooth white snow. Half of the lodge was open and I could see inside.
Chippy waddled into the snow and picked up a branch with his long yellow teeth. He brought it back and stuck it on his lodge. Then he turned and tapped it into place with his tail.
“Did Burly do that?” Mother called to him.
Chippy’s head snapped up. He nodded to us and made a clicking sound with his teeth. “Yep. Thought with that heavy snow, the old grouch would be sound asleep. But nope! He’s back again. Tearing up my lodge. Making my life miserable.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?”
Chippy shook his head. “No. Not unless you know how to keep the ice open for me.” He pointed with his buckteeth, toward the far end of his pond. “I can only fix part of my lodge from inside. To get most of it, I have to come out here. But if I fix my lodge, I can’t get back inside. Three to five times a day I’ve been leaving the lodge to break the ice near the otter’s den. They help, but their lodge is underground, and they don’t have to keep the hole open. It’s getting colder, though. Another week or so, I won’t be able to . . . to . . .” He heaved another sigh and sat down on his tail. “If that old bear tears my house up again, we’re goners. Thanks for your consideration, though. Got to get back to work.”
“What’s an otter?” I asked.
Mother motioned with a nod of her head. “On the way back from hunting our breakfast, I’ll show you.”
We wandered up the valley for quite a ways. Mother stopped. She heard something. Then I heard it—a faint roaring, growling sound coming from the far side of a thicket. Mother backed up. She sniffed the air. Beside us was a tall tree. I could see scratch marks in the bark. There were deep gouges—lines that reached way higher than Mother’s head. She saw it, too. The snarling roar came again.
“Is that an otter?”
Mother shook her head. “No, Bub. That’s Burly. It makes me nervous for you to be so close to the people. But . . .”
“Yes, Mother?”
“But for now I think we would be better off near their house. Even as nasty and mean as Burly is, I don’t think he would come that close to the people.”
We crossed the stream and started back. Behind us, there was more snarling and grumbling. I could hear the snapping sounds of limbs and trees breaking. It was a mean, scary sound. I was glad to be headed back. Then I heard another sound.
“Whoopieeee! Yahoooo!”
“Is that Burly?”
Mother’s ears wobbled when she shook her head.
“No. Those are otters.”
Chapter 10
“Yippieee!”
“Look out! Here I come! Yahoooo!”
I wiggled my ears toward the cheers and shouts. My eyes followed where my ears led. There was a steep hill or bank not far from where Mother and I stood. It was at the opposite end of the pond from Chippy’s dam. A movement at the top of the hill caught my eye.
A dark brown streak swished from the top of the rise to the bottom. It went so fast, I couldn’t tell what it was. The thing didn’t even slow down when it slid out onto the snow-covered pond. It just hopped up and pounced back toward the slope.
Just as it started up the hill, another brown streak swished down.
“Yippi-ty-a. Get along get along little doggie. Out of the way! Here I come!”
The second brown streak just barely missed the first. Once it hit the pond, it spun around a couple of times. But instead of hopping up and bounding back with the other one, this one just lay there—all sprawled out on its back.
“Boy, howdy. Reckon that was the best one I did all day. Look how far out on the ice I slid.”
The little animal had short legs and a long tail. Instead of flat, like Chippy’s tail, it was thick and tapered to a point at the end. He was lying on his back. I could see that the fur on his tummy was a lighter color.
“Look, Linda Sue. I wonder what those two big animals are.”
A little head popped up, not far from where Mother and I stood.
“They’re moose, you knot-head. If you’d get off your back and look at the world, right-side-up, you’d know what they were.”
The little animal wiggled around and flopped over on one side. Once on his feet he stuck his pointy nose way out and looked at us. “Yep. You’re right as rain, Linda Sue. They’re sure enough moose.”
I just knew that as little as the animal was, he would be scared of us. He’d run away and I would never know the reason for all their yelling and hollering.
Wrong.
He didn’t run away. Instead, he ran right for us. His little back humped up high as he bounded through the snow, leaping and hopping his way up to where we stood. He didn’t stop until he was almost standing on my hoof.
I stepped back.
He hopped closer. Sniffed. The long hairs that stuck out from either side of his mouth tickled my leg. I yanked it off the ground and held it out of his reach. He just hopped over and sniffed my other leg.
“Well, howdy, little buckaroo. You must be Bub Moose. Hey, Linda Sue. Look here. Bub Moose came to say hi.”
The other little brown animal came pouncing through the snow. Standing on three legs in the deep snow was kind of awkward. Careful not to step on them, I put my foot down.
“How did you know my name was Bub?”
The otter named Linda Sue sniffed me.
“Chippy told us all about you and your mama,” she answered. “He said you were about the nicest, sweetest moose that ever come down the pike. Told us you were as polite as could be.”
“You know Chippy?” I had to move my feet some because they were tickling my legs with their noses again.
“Sure we know Chippy. Kid’s having a mighty rough winter, what with that nasty old bear. We’ve been helping him keep the ice open, s
o he can get to the outside of his lodge. See that hole over yonder?” She pointed to a mushy spot in the ice, not far from the bank. “It’s not easy, though. Hope that bear backs off soon. Pond’s already froze solid. Another week and—no matter how hard we work—we won’t be able to keep her open.”
“He is very depressed,” Mother said. “I do wish there was something we could do to help.”
“Not much none of us can do, honey,” Linda Sue said. “Burly is bad enough, but I reckon it’s the ice that will get Chippy. Joe Bob and I knew this muskrat, one time. He wasn’t too bright, but . . .”
“Ah, come on, Linda Sue, let’s go slide some more. You, too, little buckaroo Bub. You can go down the slide with us.”
Back arched, Joe Bob pounced across the snow. I followed him, careful not to step on Linda Sue. There in the snow was a path or trail. There were little ridges of snow on either side of it. The snow at the center was packed so tightly that it almost looked like ice. Joe Bob’s long whiskers wiggled when he sniffed at the packed snow. He inched forward, then all at once he flopped on his belly.
“Yee-haaaa!” he yelped as he slid down the trough.
“Out of the way. Here I come,” Linda Sue called as she leaped into the furrow. She whooshed and slid down the hill, following Joe Bob. Once at the bottom, they wrestled and tumbled over each other. Then, backs humped, they pounced to the top of their slide and took off again.
“Don’t they ever get tired?” I asked Mother after we had watched them for quite a while.
Mother just smiled. “Otters have a lot of energy.”
“Do they just play all the time? Don’t they ever forage for food?”
“They don’t eat grass and twigs, like we do, Bub. Otters eat fish. They are very fast in the water, so they have no trouble catching fish. It is so easy for them, it leaves them lots of time to play and have fun.”
After about ten trips up and down their snow slide, Joe Bob and Linda Sue hopped right under my feet and looked up at me.
“Why don’t you give it a shot, little Bub?”
Bub, Snow, and the Burly Bear Scare Page 5
