Bear in a Small Town

Dorie Carmichael saw him first. Of course she did, she always had the first scoop on everything going on in Pennilee. He was crossing Honey Lane, right on the edge of town. Dorie couldn't identify the small, brown beast, so she created a legend. The middle-aged housewife had always enjoyed stirring the pot, and this was just her most recent chance. "It could've been anything. To be quite honest, I wouldn't feel safe going out alone." Women with windswept hair gathered near the wishing well after church to hear every detail. Dorie went home that day smugly appreciating her good fortune at living so near the woods.

Ollie Brooks and Mary Jones saw him next. Pride of Pennilee, the innocent teens were picnicking on a grassy hill Wednesday afternoon when the creature went ambling by. Ollie reported to his father, Sheriff Brooks, "Just a bear cub. Nothing more, nothing less." Mary relayed a softer picture than Dorie's. "Oh, he was cute, little thing; he wouldn't hurt a fly." Talk of the creature trickled easily from the gossiping women to the excitable youth.

Two days later, Verne Taylor's sheep were bleating so loudly he could hear them from the chicken coop across his farm. He ran to the scene with a shotgun and then laughed at himself and his spookable ewes. "Nothing but a cub!" Verne would report the following hour at Ike's Diner. "Made a little noise and he took right off. It's the mother you've gotta watch out for," he warned. Verne's sighting brought the men of the town in on the gossip. Soon it seemed that everyone was either talking about the bear or out trying to catch the next glimpse of him.

Within the week, anyone who was on main street just past noon had a story to tell the next person he saw. The little cub was clearly hungry and abandoned by the mother who was supposed to raise him. He moved slowly and skittishly closer and closer to the various stands arranged in rows for the Farmers' Market. The cub that the town had taken to calling Teddy threw his body into a box of peaches sitting near one such stand and made off with at least three of the juicy, orange fruits. You could practically hear their small world buzzing as the story was told and retold for days.

But it was Winnie Owens who saw him last. Just a pale six-year-old with wide eyes, freckled skin, and scabbed knees, you never saw her unless she was clinging to the pant leg of Hamilton Owens, her father and the local preacher. However, today the town's picture of a soft, brown teddy bear that could move on his own, hug her, and be her best friend pried those tiny fingers away from Preacher Owens' slacks.

The innocence of Penilee left with Winnie as night fell around the hamlet like a dark blanket. The cub's mother had come back from her reprieve and found her tiny son just as a small human was scooting nearer and nearer to him. Verne Taylor was right. The cub was just a baby and the damage he could inflict was minimal. His mother, on the other hand, was capable of much more. In less than a minute, Winnie was left behind  and everything about Penilee was changed forever, but the bears carried on. It was nothing to them; a simple occurrence of nature.