— by Anam Thubten — Gratitude So many beautiful souls are gone, just like the rainbow disappears. Their faces are smiling in the shrine of my heart. I’ve tried to dream them many times, so I can say "thank you". They are the most sacred words our lips can utter. Each time we say them, this invisible cold ice between us melts.   Thanks to my beloved ones, You listened to my stories, Shared thousands of delicious meals, Opened my heart, Accepted me the way I am. Your presence never gave me sorrow, only joy. In your field, my entire being is so relaxed.   Thank you to all my friends. Your trust has been empowering...

When the winter winds blow fiercely, snow drifts pile up in the Wildlife Garden so high that the wolves can just walk straight out of the Garden. In order to keep it open for them all winter, we put up a snow fence; a perforated orange plastic strip that lets the wind through but causes the snow to pile up behind it. Unfortunately Bluebell apparently took exception to this intrusion in her pasture. She takes her duties as Watch-Buffalo seriously. Or alternatively gets annoyed when there's an intrusion into her territory and takes it as a person insult. Or maybe she just thought it was really ugly. In any case we found the fence decimated with part of it pierced by her horns and carried...

— by Susan Eirich, Ph.D. — No more bears. Nighty-night bears. Bears all gone. No bears anywhere... Does anyone see any bears? No – no bears. Our five sleepy bears are all tucked in for the winter. They may be magnificent. Huge. Powerful. Have great dignity. But they are also complete beings like us and have their moments of vulnerability. Who among us doesn’t want to make a warm cozy safe bed in the cold, cold dark and snuggle in and settle in and feel hidden and protected? Do we want to be talked to seriously as equal beings at that time or do we want to be told bedtime stories, called sweet nicknames and told sweet nothings? Bears are no different. We all become vulnerable...

— by Susan Eirich, PhD — The other day it was lying chickens. Now it is jealous humans -  jealous of the bears.  Kindly visitors had asked what they could bring for the animals. Among other things*, we said meaty bones for the foxes, coyotes, wolves and cats, and cherry pies for the bears. Visitors and bears enjoyed the pies enormously – the visitors watching, and the bears eating. The pies were consumed in various styles:  two gulps for one, setting down for a long pie session for another,  delicately licking the cherries and juice out of the crust for a third. I came back to the office and mentioned how much the bears had enjoyed their pies. I got a chorus of...

— by Susan Eirich, PhD — It snowed the other day, a heavy early snow. Too soon! That was the consensus of man and mouse; woman and chicken. I was looking out at the gloomy day when Jean came to me to and accused, “You didn’t feed the chickens!” “But I did!” I protested. “Well, they say you didn’t.” “But I DID!” He looked at me doubtfully. “That’s not what they said” (actual conversation). I don’t know which is worse, lying chickens or a partner who chooses their word over mine. I ask you, with all due respect for chickens and their trustworthiness, (or not) – who had the most to gain by lying? What they had done, I assumed, is play extra pathetic...