We have a feature in our monthly newsletter called Grace and Grit, because there is not only delight in caring and being with our animals, but also hard work and challenging situations. Below is a story illustrating both. I hope you enjoy it.
The Grace
Bramble Bear is 25 years old now, a satisfactory age for a brown bear. In fact, everything about him is satisfactory—at least, in his personal perception (and I tend to agree). He is gorgeous and a powerful presence, and far humbler than his brother Ramble, who has a bit of a high opinion of himself and is rather given to mischief of a bearly sort. But I digress, the finer points of bear personality being among my many animal fascinations.
Twenty-five years is the outer limit of the life span of a wild brown bear, but in captivity they can live much longer. Which is our intention for Bramble, who looks rather well in general. Thanks to the pampering he has received, we hope for 40 years or so: his personal hammock, lovingly made by staff from industrial grade fire hose, weighing 300 pounds. Wild whole salmon, fresh blueberries, and eggs from our hens as treats. The inevitable grapes. Fruit pies with real whipped cream. A private swimming pool. A personal one-acre bear garden. Adoration from visitors and staff. Etc.
Watching his wild delight splashing in his pool, showing off for us; his obvious sensual pleasure as he lazes in his hammock in various comfortable positions; his satisfaction eating fresh salmon and pies; and watching him move his shiny powerful bulk with that peculiar grace of bears is more than enough reward for all our efforts. Then there is his coming to greet us every time we visit, which melts our hearts.
The animals give us endless delight, a grace in our lives.
The Grit
A couple of weeks ago, Bramble didn’t seem quite himself. His energy was low. He spent time lying down, looking uncomfortable. His appetite dropped. He was coughing, great heaving coughs.
We have no bear specialists locally, and our local vets don’t always have the time for emergency ranch calls. We had a really unfortunate experience taking a bear across the country to a teaching hospital with facilities for bears. It resulted only in much stress for him, and no diagnosis or cure. Also, loading an 800 pound bear onto a trailer for a 14 hour drive would be dramatically stressful for an already stressed bear.
How do we diagnose him? What to do? Calling everywhere we could think of, a very kind vet with some bear experience helped us over the phone, saying it sounded like pneumonia. There was a drug that might help, but it could only be administered by a vet, physically on site.
We were finally able to reach our local travelling vet, Summer, who came as soon as she could. Hearing his cough, she said the only causes for such a deep belly cough were pneumonia, heart disease, or cancer, and only pneumonia was treatable. So, we would treat him for pneumonia. But the traditional medicine for pneumonia was a daily dose of 11 large pills, which were marketed as delicious, at least to dogs. Bramble begged to differ. We tried to hide one in a marshmallow as an experiment, but as in the story I wrote a few years ago about giving a bear a pill, they are not easily fooled! He spat it out with a look of utter betrayal.
Eleven of the pills daily was not an option.
Summer had the suggested drug on hand in an injectible form, but was hesitant to use it, as there was no research she could find about its use in bears. I told her about the conversation I had had with the other vet, and really, it was try it or he would not make it.
He has an acre to roam in but he was feeling so poorly he was in his night yard, which is, thankfully, more accessible to us. We lured him to the fence with soft words and marshmallows, his favorite. He laid down his bulk against the fence, large furry brown bottom available. Summer prepared a hand pole with a syringe attached.
It was a tense moment. We would only have one try, and many things could go wrong. It could go in at an angle; not go in deep enough to deliver the full dose, etc, etc, etc.
We held our breath. The big haunch rested there invitingly.
Summer made her move.
Instantaneously, Bramble leaped up with a great roar and ran to hide in his den. But Summer had made a perfect hit. The medication (long lasting, thank goodness) was fully in!
It took a while for Bramble to come out again after the world reached out and bit him. The rather embarrassing truth is that if he had been a wolf, he would have barely noticed the shot. For all their size, bears are not (how to put it delicately… ) the most stoic creatures.
The first 24 hours were critical. We couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. Twenty-five years of companionship. A vulnerable sweetness one wouldn’t expect in a bear. A powerful grounding presence. A wonderful ambassador for his species.
Everyone went about their jobs, but you could feel the worry suffusing the ranch atmosphere. We waited, and visited, and offered treats, and worried some more. At the end of the 24 hour period he seemed a bit better, though the cough hadn’t eased. Was he really better, or were we fooling ourselves with hope? But day by day the look in his eyes became more focused. His appetite began to increase. He looked more comfortable. His cough took a long time to subside, but the shot worked!
He is now back to himself.
Oh my goodness, the relief!
Life on the ranch is filled with Grace and Grit.
