The story of a farmer out in B.C. who shot and killed a bear that was raiding his beehives created wild imaginings in my mind. I decided to write a piece from the perspective of the bears - with a bit of a nod to Robert Service and The Cremation of Sam McGee.
Buckwheat’s Last Grab
Strange things happen in the dark of night,
While you’re bundled up in bed.
Keep away from the honey-hive at the height
Of the moon, or you’ll end up dead!
Tall tales told by the campfirelight,
Old grizzlies love to share.
Cubs, wide-eyed shrunk up with fright,
Heed not the chill night air.
One story is their favourite,
Sends shivers up small spines,
‘Bout a Kamloops bear gone missing
Who couldn’t read the signs.
“Stay out!" "Keep off!” The billboards read,
And, “Enter if you dare!",
"No tresspassing!","Beware of Dog!”
Buckwheat could only stare.
The printed word dumbfounded him,
For book-learnin’ he’d spurned.
He might have been more careful,
If reading he had learned.
So on he went into the yard,
Just followin’ his nose,
To that sweet smell of honey,
When up behind him rose…
A figure of great height and bulk,
Wielding a big long stick.
He drew a bead on “Bucky”,
Who thought it was a trick…
Until he saw the gun go off
And he knew he was done.
Then Bucky crumpled in a heap
For he weighed near a ton.
And farmer Orwall rolled his sleeves;
He had some work to do.
The massive bear he had to hide,
‘Else, this dark night he’d rue.
Long gone midnight, moon was high
And Orwall dug down deep,
And rolling the old bear inside
Poor Bucky went to sleep—
Forever with the angels,
In paradise for bears;
Where honey flows from faucets,
Rolls down the marble stairs—
At least that’s what they tell the cubs,
Especially when there’s tears--
Young bears need reassuring;
The big bears calm their fears.
Now farmer Orwall’s up in court,
With charges to be laid.
The law still frowns on shootin’ bears
To stop a midnight raid.
So let that be a lesson
To bears who leave their cave:
Stay in school and learn to read
‘Cause signs your life could save.
Strange things happen in the dark of night,
While you’re bundled up in bed.
Keep away from the honey-hive at the height
Of the moon, or you’ll end up dead!
Kathleen Mortensen © 2007
