We were eating lunch at the table near the window when my brother pointed to the bear cub, just outside, raiding our bird feeders.
We went over to the breezeway to get a better look, and I also got some video.
Unlike the raccoons, who totally demolished the feeders, dragging them away and leaving them, useless, on the hillside, the bear, having knocked the feeders to the ground, gently pawed and licked them, getting as much of the food as it could but not mangling the feeders in the process.
Even my mother was fascinated by the cub, who was about the same size as the giant white Malamute my brother had years ago. She kept thinking it was a dog; I’m not sure she remembered what a bear is.
“She’s so pretty,” she kept saying.
And, indeed, it was a beautiful bear cub, hungry and preparing for winter. I wondered where its mother was, where it was going to find food here on the mountain, which is getting more and more populated.
We knocked on the window to scare it away after it had eaten all the bird food that was out there. It was still hungry, nosing up at a hanging flower basket, hoping for something more before it sauntered down toward the lake, toward our neighbor’s house, where, I assume it hoped to find a garbage can or two.