Bub, Snow, and the Burly Bear Scare

by Carol Wallace

  “Yeah, it’s fun, kid. Give it a try.”

  I looked at Mother. She shrugged. So I followed the two otters to the top of their slide. From the crest of the hill it looked like a long way to the pond. The trench where they slid was narrow and crooked. Very cautious, and a bit nervous, I stepped into the furrow.

  Nothing happened.

  I put my other hoof beside my first one.

  “It’s not working,” I complained.

  “You got to flop on your belly to slide down the slope. Here, watch ol’ Joe Bob.”

  Joe Bob darted between my front legs, flopped on his tummy, and swooshed down the slope. Linda Sue nudged my hind leg with her snout.

  “Go on, kid. Give it a try.”

  I sighed and shook my head. “I don’t think it’s going to work. I don’t know how to flop on my tummy.”

  She showed me. I stretched my front hooves farther out. All they did was dig into the snow. Bounding and hopping, the two otters raced back up to me.

  “How about if he sits down on his rump? Reckon that might work.”

  “Sure worth a try, Joe Bob.”

  Linda Sue stepped in front of me. She arched her back up real, real high. Then she leaned backward. Tail first, she shot down the long, windy slide.

  It looked like so much fun, I just had to try it. I took a deep breath, braced myself, and folded my hind legs beneath me. Still . . .

  Nothing happened. My rump just stuck there in the snow, and I didn’t slide at all.

  The otters raced up and down their slide. They never seemed to get tired, never seemed to slow down, and never quit their chattering and laughing. They made sliding down the slope look like so much fun. I really wanted to try it. But nothing I did seemed to work. Perhaps some things aren’t meant to be. A moose sliding down a hill was just one of those things.

  Mother told me it was time to go back down the valley. We thanked Joe Bob and Linda Sue for trying to help me.

  “Think nothing of it, little Buckaroo,” Joe Bob called over his shoulder as he slid down the slope again. “You’ll get it next time.”

  Linda Sue took off after him. “Y’all come back and see us.”

  The hay was waiting, not far from our bed, when we got back. There were no people around. Mother and I ate our fill, then curled up together for the night.

  I fell asleep with visions of skiers in my head. People laughing and giggling and zooming down the long, tall mountain. Otters flopping on their tummies and yelling and swishing down the long narrow trough. And . . . in my dreams . . . I could almost feel the rush and the excitement and the fun.

  If only . . .

  Chapter 11

  Mother and I waited in the safety of the fir trees the next morning. The sun had been up a while before Jane and Jussy came waddling out of the barn, carrying loads of hay. Their hooves were not broad and strong like Mother’s and mine. It was hard for them to walk in the deep white powder.

  The people mother stood and watched. Jussy put his hay down and started back. Jane put her hay down, but instead of leaving she stood there a moment. I stepped out from behind the fir tree and started toward her.

  “Bub,” Mother warned. “Stay away from the people. They’re dangerous.”

  And at the exact same second, the people mother called to her little one.

  “Jane, stay away from the moose. They’re dangerous.”

  Her little round face was pretty when she smiled and waved at me. I waved back with my ears. Once they were inside, Mother let me go eat.

  Jane and Jussy came back out while we were munching the hay. They played tag around their big log cabin. People noises—laughter and giggles—filled the air. It sounded like fun. It reminded me of Snow. The little wolf and I had such a good time playing tag. I wished Snow was here. I wished I could join Jane and Jussy with their game.

  Mother watched me. If I wandered toward them, she stomped a heavy hoof on the ground, warning me to come back. When Jane or Jussy moved toward us and too far from the house, the people mother told them to come back, too.

  We foraged above the pond. When we strolled past it, I looked for Chippy. My friend was no place to be found. The roof of his lodge looked like it was finished. Some of the light powdery snow had blown to cover part of it, helping to keep the warmth in. Farther up the stream, we found Linda Sue and Joe Bob’s slide. They weren’t around, either.

  There were no mean and ugly sounds from the forest. There was no prickly feeling on the back of my neck as we hunted food. Burly was not out and about this morning. I was glad. Our valley was quiet and peaceful.

  Farther toward the high country, we found some green grass buried beneath the snow. While Mother ate, noises from the ski slope drew me up the far side of the ridge. Even without turning to look, I could feel Mother’s eyes on me. So I didn’t venture very far. I did find a place, in the middle of a tall pine grove, where I could watch. The people noises were different from the sounds the two otters made when they swished down their slide. Still, the same feeling of fun and excitement came from them. I could sense it as I watched them zoom down the hill.

  Late that afternoon, as we moved toward our shelter near the people house, Joe Bob was playing on the otter slide. Linda Sue was lying on her back, munching a trout that she had caught. When she finished eating, she went to join him. Linda Sue was the one who spotted us.

  “Hey, Bub,” she greeted. “You come to try the slide again?”

  I glanced at Mother. She smiled and shrugged her big beautiful ears. “Go ahead, if you want.”

  Trotting through the snow, I stopped at the very top of the otter slide. I took a deep breath and folded my legs beneath me. Nothing happened. I wiggled, trying to nestle my tummy down against the snow. I stretched my front legs out.

  Still nothing.

  Then I felt something on my bottom. Glancing back, I could see Linda Sue and Joe Bob. Standing on their hind legs, they shoved and pushed with their front paws. They strained and bumped, over and over again, against my rump. I didn’t budge an inch.

  “Sorry, kid. It doesn’t look like it’s gonna work.” Joe Bob sighed.

  “Reckon if we rolled him over on his back?” Linda Sue suggested.

  Joe Bob just shot her a disgusted look. She wiggled her whiskers and stuck her tongue out at him. Then she smiled up at me.

  “Don’t give up, kiddo. You’ll get it—one of these days—if you keep trying.”

  I got to my feet, thanked them for trying to help me, then followed Mother down the valley. I wished I could ski, like the people did. I wished I could slide and play with the otters.

  We returned from foraging, early that afternoon. Jane and Jussy were playing outside. I guess they were playing. Jussy was walking around, pulling on a rope. Jane sat on her bottom on some pieces of wood. There were two bright, shiny things under the wood. Wherever Jussy went with the rope, Jane and her pile of wood followed him. After a while he stopped and handed the rope to Jane.

  “It’s my turn to ride on the sled.” Then he sat on the wood and she pulled him.

  She didn’t pull him very far, though. But at least she tried. Once they came sort of close to our trees. I wanted to get a better look at the thing they called “the sled.” Mother stomped her foot and snorted, telling me to stop. When the mother people saw where her little ones were, she called for them. Mother made me stay in the trees until they went back to the house.

  I didn’t know why Mother thought people were dangerous. I didn’t know why the mother people thought moose were dangerous, either. Mother was much wiser than I was. So . . . well . . . maybe some people were mean—but not Jussy and especially not Jane. They never tried to hurt us. All they did was feed us hay. Jane was sweet and gentle. I could feel her tenderness when she had touched me. Why couldn’t Mother understand? Grown-ups are so weird, sometimes.

  • • •

  The snowblower came the next morning. Jane and Jussy had just put our hay down and gone back to the log cabin. Mother an
d I hadn’t even left the shelter of the trees when we heard the thing huffing and puffing up the road. Plumes of snow blew high into the air. Jane, Jussy, the people mother, and even the people daddy stood in front of their house and watched it. Holding hands in front of them, they patted them together—real fast and hard. It made a funny popping sound. Then they cheered and waved at the snowblower. I guess they were happy to see it.

  • • •

  It was a clear, pretty day. The sun was high—right above our heads—when Mother decided to stop searching for food and lay down. She said the winter sun was good for animals. We found a wide clearing, not far from the pond, and curled up to enjoy the wonderful day.

  The snow glistened as bright as stars in the night sky. Even in a world that seemed covered with ice and snow, the sun felt warm. I closed my eyes. My head felt heavy. But before it so much as touched the snow, I heard the noise. My eyes popped wide.

  The people noises were like nothing I ever heard before. There was laughter and giggles and yelling and shouting. The valley seemed to overflow with all the sounds. I stretched my neck and looked toward the pond.

  There was a whole herd of people!

  Beside me, I felt Mother stir. I wanted to watch and see what all the commotion was about, but I knew Mother would want to leave. Pouting, I started to get up.

  “Be still, Bub.” Mother nudged me with her nose. “We’re far enough away. I don’t think they have seen us.”

  The people surrounded the pond. There were seven little people—about the size of Jane and Jussy—and six big people. They carried strange things. The first thing I noticed was big and black and round. It took two of the daddy-size people to carry it. The thing reminded me of the tires on a people car, only this thing was gigantic. Two of the mother-size people carried something that looked like a leaf. It was brown and thin. Only this leaf was enormous. They put it down near the very top of the hill, not far from the otter slide. I saw a little blur of brown streak down the trough. Joe Bob and Linda Sue disappeared into the ice hole that they had been helping Chippy keep open. The people never saw them.

  Each of the other two big people carried “the sled.” Three of the Jussy-size little people carried “the sled,” too. Only this “the sled” was twice as long. All the people animals climbed to the top of the hill and put their things down. Then one of the big daddy people walked out on the ice. He marched about, stomping his hooves. Then he stopped and jumped up and down.

  “Frozen, solid as a rock,” he called.

  Everyone cheered and laughed.

  The two mother-size people with the giant leaf called to the others. Everyone gathered at the back of the big leaf. They held on to one side of it as the two mother-size people climbed on. Then another big people got on with them and finally, a fourth.

  “Okay!” one of them yelled. “Let it go.”

  The people released their hold on the back of the giant leaf. Squealing and laughing, the four mother-size people flew down the hill and way out onto Chippy’s pond. They rolled and tumbled over one another, then got to their feet and dragged it back to the top of the slope. The other two big people and three of the little people hopped on and whooshed down. When they brought it back, all the little people got on and slid.

  After about five or six trips, the path that they took began to look packed and icy, just like the otter slide. They tossed the huge leaf aside and started taking turns riding “the sleds” down the slope. After they did that for a while, they got the humongous, round, black thing. Everyone sat down on it. One of the people said:

  “One. Two. Three.”

  All at the same time they lifted their hooves and the whole bunch of them went whizzing and spinning down the slide. I never heard so much laughing and giggling and goofy sounds in my whole life.

  It was almost dark when they left. They all seemed very tired and quiet. Not at all like they acted when they first got here.

  Once the people were gone, Mother and I got up and started home, too.

  That’s when I spotted the enormous brown leaf. They left it behind. Right near the top of their slide.

  A little shiver raced up my back, clear to my ears. Then it raced the other direction, until my tail wagged and wagged and wagged. I could hardly wait until tomorrow.

  Chapter 12

  Opening my eyes, I could see the bright sunshine pouring into the valley. Mother was already up. She nuzzled the snow away from the ground near the edge of the trees. Feeling safe and cozy, I wanted to sleep a little while longer.

  All at once my eyes flashed wide.

  The giant leaf!

  I could hardly wait. Snow flew in all directions as I jumped up and ran to Mother.

  “I’m hungry. Let’s go forage up by Chippy’s pond.” I snuggled against her.

  She glanced back at me and tilted her head, way to one side.

  “Don’t you want to eat first?”

  “No. We don’t need the people food. Let’s go find our own breakfast this morning.”

  Mother’s head tilted the other way. She studied me for a long time. Finally her ears gave a little flick.

  “All right, Bub. What’s going on?”

  How do Mothers always know when we’re up to something? I wondered. When I noticed how she looked at me—square in the eye—I knew there was no sense in trying to fib.

  “I want to see if I can slide down the hill on the giant leaf.”

  Mother frowned and leaned both ears toward me. “Giant leaf?”

  “The big, square, brown leaf that the people slid down the hill on,” I explained.

  Mother wobbled her head back and forth.

  “That’s not a leaf, Bub. It’s called cardboard. It’s something people make out of trees. They chew it up and smash it flat and stick it back together and . . . and well . . .” She stopped and gave a little snort. “Okay. What is it you want to do with the giant leaf?”

  “I want to slide down the hill, like the people did. I couldn’t go down the otter slide with Joe Bob and Linda Sue. I got stuck, remember? But I bet I can use the . . . the . . . What did you call it?”

  Mother shrugged her big ears. “Giant leaf is fine.”

  “Yeah. I bet if I use the giant leaf, like the people did, I can slide just like the otters.”

  Mother looked at me a moment, then heaved a long sigh. “All right. But if you get hurt, I’m not going to feel the least bit sorry for you.”

  • • •

  When we got to the pond, I wanted to race across and climb the hill where the giant leaf was. Mother stomped her hoof and hrronked, calling me back to her.

  “It is late enough in the winter for the pond to be safe,” Mother said. “But even so, you must never go out onto the ice unless I am with you to check and make sure.”

  I waited while she strolled back and forth across the frozen pond. She even stopped a couple of times and pawed at spots with her big, strong hoof. Once sure it was safe, she looked at me and wobbled her ears toward the place where the giant leaf was. I charged across the pond, raced up the hill, and slid to a stop. The big brown leaf was right where the people had left it.

  I leaned forward and sniffed. It didn’t really smell like a leaf. I reached down and nibbled one corner. It didn’t taste like a leaf. In the snow I could see tracks—webbed footprints—where the otters had come to investigate the strange thing.

  Slowly and carefully I used my nose to shove it toward the edge of the slope.

  “What’s happenin’, little buckaroo?”

  The shrill, chattery voice startled me. My head was already down, shoving the leaf. I glanced between my legs. Joe Bob and Linda Sue stood right behind me.

  “Did you see the people, yesterday?”

  Both otters nodded. “Who could miss them. Never heard so much racket in all my days.”

  “Did you see them slide down the hill?”

  Again they nodded.

  I quit looking between my legs and stood up straight and proud. “Well
, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to use the giant leaf and slide.”

  Leaping and hopping over each other, Joe Bob and Linda Sue raced to me. “We’ll help. What do you want us to do? Want us to give ya’ a push? Just tell us what ya’ want.”

  “I don’t know yet,” I told them. “Give me a second. Let me think how the people did it.”

  One edge of the giant leaf was hanging over the crest of the slope. I studied it a moment, trying to remember. Okay—they got on the leaf and sat down. I looked at it and nibbled my bottom lip. I can do that. I know how to fold my hind legs under me and sit down. Yeah . . . I can do that.

  My eyes flashed. Wait. There’s something else.

  “I know how you can help,” I told the otters. “Part of the people held the leaf, while the others sat down on it. Will you hold it for me?”

  “Sure thing, little buckaroo.” Joe Bob pounced up to the edge of the leaf. He took one corner in his teeth and bit down. Linda Sue raced to the other corner and chomped down on it.

  “Wegoter, iddleBub. Annetyme yourready,” they mumbled.

  It was really hard to understand them, since they had to talk out of one side of their mouths, while holding the giant leaf in their teeth.

  I took a deep breath. Left front hoof, then right front hoof. Left rear hoof, then right rear hoof. Walk to the middle and sit down. I got it now. I can do it. Here goes.

  I put my left front hoof on the leaf. Then I put my right front hoof on the leaf. Then . . .

  The leaf took off!

  I wasn’t ready. I only had my front hooves on the thing.

  The leaf didn’t care. It just whooshed away, down the steep hill. Since my front hooves were on it—they went, too. Only my back hooves were still stuck in the snow. I didn’t even have time to jump back. There was a little whoomp sound. It came from me when my tummy hit the ground.

  Then . . . away I went.

  I guess I should say—away we went. Joe Bob and Linda Sue were still clamped on to their corners of the leaf. Stretched out on our tummies, all three of us went zooming down the hill.

  Sprawled flat, my front hooves and chest were on the giant leaf. Hind legs and tummy floundered about, chasing the rest of me and the leaf down the steep slope. I was going really fast. Then faster and faster and . . .