On the slope of Long's Peak one June morning I came upon two tiny
grizzly bear cubs. Each was about the size of a cottontail rabbit--a
lively little ball of fur, dark gray, almost black, in color.
Knowing that their mother had recently been killed, I thought I would
capture them and bring them up properly. But they did not want to be
brought up properly! We had a lively chase, dodging among the bowlders
and trees. Cornering them at last among the fallen logs, I grabbed one.
He did the same to me. His teeth were as sharp as needles and almost as
sharp were his lively claws. It was some time before I could tear myself
loose. He kept a mouthful of my trousers. At last I deposited the
fighting little fellow in the bottom of a sack. The other cub scratched
and chewed me up and tore my clothes; but I forced it also into the
sack. Two grizzly bears in the same sack! any one should have known
better!
I started to conduct them personally to my cabin, two miles away. In
descending a steep moraine with the sack over my shoulder I slipped and
shook the sack more than any sack should have been shaken that contained
two bears. Of course, they started to fight. One bit through the sack
and bit the wrong bear. I finally reached my cabin with a long pole over
my shoulder. Tied to the south end of the pole was a sack full of
grizzly bears.
I shook the cubs out of the sack in front of a basin of milk and thrust
their faces deeply into it. Not having eaten for three days, they were
"as hungry as bears" and needed no explanation concerning the milk. They
had eager, cunning little faces, and were pets before sundown. In
twenty-four hours Jenny knew that her name was Jenny, and Johnny that
his was Johnny. After a few days they followed me about with fondness
and loyalty.
[Illustration: JENNY (STANDING UP) AND JOHNNY
_In the First Year of their Lives_]
These bears responded to kind treatment and were of cheerful
disposition. I made it a point never to annoy or tease them. The grizzly
bear is an exceedingly sensitive animal, and annoyances or cruelty make
him cross. Once in addressing an audience concerning wild life I made
the statement that bears would be good to us if we were good to them.
A small boy instantly asked, "What do you do to be good to bears?" The
health and the temper of bears, as well as of people, are easily ruined
by improper food.
Young bear cubs are the most wide-awake and observing little people that
I know of. Never have I seen a horse or dog who understood as readily or
learned as rapidly as these two bears. One day I offered Johnny a saucer
of milk. He was impatient to get it. Reaching up, he succeeded in
spilling it, but he licked the saucer with satisfaction. On the second
try he spilled only a part of the milk. On the third trial he clasped
the saucer deftly in his two fore paws, lifted it upwards, turned his
head back and poured the milk into his mouth.
When Johnny and Jenny were growing up, it seemed as if nothing unusual
escaped them. A bright button, a flash of a ring, a white handkerchief,
or an unusual movement or sound instantly caught their attention. They
concentrated on each new object and endeavored to find out what it was.
Having satisfied their curiosity or obtained full information about it,
the next instant they were ready to concentrate on something else. But
they remembered on second appearance anything which had especially
interested them at any time. They learned through careful observation.
For a time they were not chained and had the freedom of the yard. Never
have I seen two young animals more intense, more playful, or more
energetic. They played alone, they mauled each other by the hour, and
occasionally they scrapped. Sometimes we ran foot-races. From a scratch
upon the ground, at the word "go," we would race down hill about one
hundred and fifty yards. They were eager for these races and always
ready to line up with me. They were so speedy that in every race they
merrily turned around at least twice to see if I was coming, and in
those days I was not slow.
Johnny and Jenny enjoyed playing with people, with any one who did not
annoy them. Among the strangers who came was a man who made friends at
once and had a good romp. When he left them and went to lunch, Johnny
and Jenny followed and lay down near the door where he had disappeared.
As he came out, they rose up and started another romp.
To attract my attention or to ask for something to eat, Johnny or Jenny
would stand on hind legs and hold out fore paws like an orator. If I
came around the corner of the house a quarter of a mile away, they
instantly stood on tiptoe and gesticulated with enthusiasm. They were
the life of my home, and occasionally almost the death of it.
It was almost impossible to get these cubs filled up. They ate
everything,--scraps from the table, rhubarb, dandelions, bitter sage,
and bark,--but they were especially fond of apples. If I approached with
meat and honey upon a plate but with apples or turnips in my pockets,
they would ignore the plate and, clinching me, thrust their noses into
my pockets to find the promised treat.
One August evening I brought in a cluster of wild raspberries for Johnny
and Jenny. While still more than a hundred feet from the cabin, both
bears leaped to their feet, scented the air, and came racing to meet me
with more than their ordinary enthusiasm. No child of frontier parents
could have shown more interest in a candy package on the father's return
from the city than did Johnny and Jenny in those berries.
A number of people were waiting in my cabin to see me. The little bears
and I crowded in. I handed Jenny a berry-laden spray, and then one to
Johnny, alternating until they were equally divided. Standing erect,
each held the cluster under the left forearm by pressing it against the
chest. When browsing in a raspberry-patch bears commonly bite off the
tops of the canes together with the leaves and the berries. Johnny and
Jenny ate more daintily. One berry was plucked off at a time with two
front claws and dropped into the mouth. As one berry followed another,
the lips were smacked, and the face and every movement made expressed
immense satisfaction at the taste.
Every one crowded close to watch the performance. In the jostling one of
the berry-laden canes fell to the floor. Both little bears grabbed for
it at the same instant. They butted heads, lost their temper, and began
to fight over it. I grabbed them by the collars and shook them.
"Why, Johnny and Jenny," I said, "why do you do this? And such awful
manners when we have company! What shall I do with you?"
They instantly stopped quarreling and even forgot the berries. For
several seconds the little bears were embarrassed beyond all measure.
They simply stared at the floor. Then suddenly each appeared to have the
same idea. Standing erect, facing each other, they put fore paws on each
other's shoulders, and went "Ungh, ah, oooo." Plainly they were very
sorry that they had misbehaved.
The manner in which these cubs received the berries, the fact that the
first time they saw mushrooms they scented them at some distance and
raced for them, also that on other occasions they went out of their way
to get a plant ordinarily liked by the grizzly, led me to think that
they inherited a taste for a number of things that grizzlies commonly
eat.
One day we were out walking, when we came upon an army of ants. Without
the least hesitation Johnny and Jenny followed along the line, licking
them up. Upon reaching the stone behind which the ants were
disappearing, Johnny thrust one fore claw under it and flung it aside. I
was astonished at his strength.
I tried not to teach Johnny or Jenny any trick, but encouraged them to
develop any original stunt or individuality of their own. One day Jenny
was attracted by a big green fly that alighted on Johnny. She struck at
it; the fly relighted and she struck again. With a little effort I
succeeded in getting the bears to shoo flies off each other, and
sometimes they were both busy at the same time. It made a comical show,
especially when one was lazily lying down and the other was shooing with
eagerness and solemnity.
Another activity I encouraged was the bear's habit of holding the other
around the neck with one fore paw and rubbing or scratching the back of
the bear's head with his other paw. In a short time both bears, while
facing each other, would go through the performance at the same time.
Like other children Johnny and Jenny were fond of water and spent much
time rolling and wading in the brook by their shed. This was a play they
enjoyed. I showed interest in having them roll and splash in the
liveliest manner possible.
Johnny seemed unusually interested in what I was doing one day and
imitated in succession a number of my performances. I had dropped a
penny on the floor, and then, stooping over, touched it with the end of
one finger and moved it rapidly about. He rose on his hind feet, held up
one claw, then, stooping, put this upon the penny and moved it rapidly
about. Blowing the yolk out of an egg, I held up the empty shell before
him, and then proceeded to move it rapidly about on the floor with the
point of one finger. After licking the shell Johnny imitated my every
act without crushing the shell.
While Jenny was asleep on the grass, I placed a large umbrella over her.
When she opened her eyes, she at once commenced a quiet though
frightened study of the strange thing. She closed one eye, turned her
head to one side, and looked up into it; then, turning her head, closed
the other eye for a look. A sudden puff of wind gave life to the
umbrella and this in turn to Jenny. She made a desperate dash to escape
the mysterious monster. The wind whirled the umbrella before her and she
landed in it. Wrecking the umbrella, she fled in terror, bellowing with
every jump. It took more than an hour to explain matters and assure
Jenny that I had not been playing any tricks.
Scotch, my short-nosed collie, was with me when Johnny and Jenny were
growing up. Johnny and Scotch were fond of each other, and though each
was a little jealous of the master's attention to the other, they got
along admirably. Ofttimes they wrestled, and sometimes in their rough
and tumble they played pretty roughly. As a climax often Scotch would
aim for a neck-hold on Johnny and hammer him on the tip of his sensitive
nose with one fore paw, while Johnny if possible would seize Scotch's
tail in his mouth and shut down on it with his needle-like teeth.
One of the most interesting pranks which they played on each other was
over a bone. Scotch was enjoying this, when he discovered Johnny
watching him eagerly. Plainly Johnny wanted that bone. After a little
while Scotch leaped to his feet, looked off in the direction beyond
Johnny and barked, as though some object of interest was coming from
that direction. Then, picking up the bone, he walked away. As he passed
in front of Johnny he dropped the bone and gave a bark. Going on a short
distance, he barked once or twice more and lay down watching this
pretended object in the distance. Johnny was more interested in the
bone, but Scotch had dropped this a foot or two beyond his reach,
chained as he was. For some time Johnny stood with his nose pointing at
the bone, apparently thinking deeply as to how he might reach it. At
last, stretching his chain to the utmost he reached out with his right
arm. But he could not touch it. Although realizing that he probably
could not reach it with the left arm, nevertheless he tried.
All this time Scotch was watching Johnny out of the corner of his eye
and plainly enjoyed his failures. Johnny stood looking at the bone;
Scotch continued looking at Johnny. Suddenly Johnny had an idea. He
wheeled about, reached back with his hind foot and knocked the bone
forward where he could pick it up with fore paws. Scotch, astonished,
leaped to his feet and walked off without a bark or once looking back.
When Johnny and Jenny were small they often reminded me of a little boy
and a little girl. Ofttimes they would follow me into my cabin. If I sat
down they would come close, stand on hind legs, put fore paws on my
knees, and look up at me. They would play with my watch-string, peep
into my pockets, notice my pencil, or look at the buttons on my coat.
Sometimes they would make a round of the room, scrutinize an unusual
knot in a log, or stop to look for several seconds at the books in the
shelves or the last magazine-cover. Then again, like children, they
would walk round the room, tap with their fore paws here and there, and
hurry on as children do. More than once they climbed up into my lap,
twitched my ears, touched my nose, played with my hair, and finally fell
off to sleep, one on each arm.
One day, while I was carrying Johnny in my arms, it occurred to me that
he would enjoy a big rocking-chair. I placed him in a chair with one
fore paw on each arm. He sat up like a little old man. As I started the
chair rocking, he showed his suspicion and alarm by excitedly peering
over, first at one rocker and then the other. Presently he calmed down
and seemed to enjoy the movement. By and by he caught the swing and
rocked himself. Suddenly the little old man and the rocker went over
backward. Seeing his angry look as he struck the floor, I leaped upon
the centre table. Getting on his feet, he struck a blow that barely
missed me and then made lively bites at my ankles. He blamed me for the
law of falling bodies. After a few seconds he was as playful as ever,
remembering that I had never played any tricks on him, and realizing
that I was not to blame for what had happened.
These little bears grew rapidly. At the age of seven months Johnny
weighed approximately sixty pounds, and Jenny forty-six.
Numerous visitors and the increasing size of the cubs at last compelled
me to chain them. The little bears were almost always on the move,
either pacing back and forth or circling. Their long chains often got
tangled with sticks, grass, or bushes. Sometimes the cubs showed
impatience, but usually they carefully examined the chain, then, taking
it in their fore paws, stepped this way and that and generally made the
very move needed to extricate or unwind it. While doing this they
appeared almost comical because of their serious and concentrated
attention.
One morning Johnny climbed to the top of the pole fence to which he was
chained. With happy, playful activity he galloped atop the pole to the
end of the chain; then, like an engine, he reversed his direction
without turning and went hippety-hop back again. This was a favorite
exercise of Johnny's, a game which I had encouraged; but this morning
while having a beautiful time he tumbled off backward. The chain caught
in a knot and Johnny found himself hung. Grizzly bears resent being hung
by the neck. Johnny quickly kicked himself out of his collar. Finding
himself free, and thinking himself abused, I suppose, he ran away. After
three days this runaway boy concluded to come home. I saw him come out
of the woods into an opening on the mountain-side. Even at a distance I
could see that he no longer possessed the big round stomach that he
took away. I went to meet him. He was interested in the food question,
and long before he reached me he was dancing about with outstretched
arms.
In the midst of this performance it occurred to him that if he wanted
anything to eat he must hurry to me. So he checked his first impulse and
started to carry his second into instant effect. These incomplete
proceedings interrupted and tripped each other three or four times and
mixed themselves together. Apparently an entangled mental process
followed my appearance. Though he tumbled about in comic confusion while
trying to do two things at once, it was evident through it all that his
central idea was to get something to eat.
One September we went camping out in Wild Basin, Johnny and Jenny racing
along as happy as two boys. Sometimes they were ahead of me, sometimes
behind; occasionally they stopped to wrestle and box. At night they lay
close to me beside the camp-fire. Often I used one of them for a pillow,
and more than once I awoke to find that they were using me for one.
[Illustration: JENNY (ON THE LEFT) AND JOHNNY
_At the Age of Fourteen_]
As we were climbing along the top of a moraine, a black bear and her two
cubs came within perhaps thirty feet of us. They saw or scented us.
The cubs and their mother bristled up and ran off terribly frightened,
while Johnny and Jenny only a short distance in front of me, walked on,
both ludicrously pretending that they had not seen the black bears.
Surely they were touched with aristocracy!
The man in charge of my place neither understood nor sympathized with
wide-awake and aggressive young grizzlies, and once, when I was away, he
teased Johnny. The inevitable crash came and the man went to the
hospital. On another occasion he set a pan of sour milk on the ground
before Jenny. Bears learn to like sour milk, but Jenny had not learned
and she sourly sniffed at it. The man roared, "Drink it," and kicked her
in the ribs. Again we had to send for the ambulance.
At last it appeared best to send Johnny and Jenny to the Denver Zoo. Two
years went by before I allowed myself the pleasure of visiting them. A
number of other bears were with them in a large pen when I leaped in,
calling "Hello, Johnny!" as I did so. Johnny jumped up fully awake,
stood erect, extended both arms, and gave a few joyful grunts in the way
of greeting. Back among the other bears stood Jenny on tiptoe, eagerly
looking on.