It was the early snowfall that broke his concentration. He was too young, not yet able to control the shifts, and the prospect of frolicking in the fresh powder was more than he could resist.
I saw it in his eyes first – pupils widening like the aperture of a camera lens. I reached out to steady him, but could tell it was already too late. As he fell to his hands and knees, I pulled his shoes and socks off, freeing his little human feet as they stretched into sharply clawed paws, while his pale skin sprouted tufts of soft brown fur.
He looked up at me, twitching his round ears. “Go ahead,” I said, smiling down at him, “have fun, and be back to the den by dark.”
As my bear cub son scampered through the trees, I picked up my tools and went back to work. The heavy equipment that had been moved in would be disabled by morning. And no one would ever find the woman captured on the security camera. Her footprints would disappear, leaving only bear tracks behind.
Author’s Note: Brooke Bartleson is a fantastic wildlife photographer, wild soul, and kindred spirit. To see the wild brought to life in her photos, visit her on Instagram (@brookelittlebear). She has gone on photo safari in Alaska to commune with wild bears in one of their last remaining unspoiled habitats, and has written extensively on the looming threat to them from mining operations. Recently, she posted the above photo and attached comment from one of her treks through the forest, and when I saw it, this story sprang into my mind. I have shared it here with her blessing.
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