Yellowy, Mr. Yellowy as I called him when i was old enough to be polite, was my first bear. He arrived shortly after my birth and spent his time in my crib. I know this because I have our picture on my family wall. He also remains with me to this day, up over my front door with Lionsides. Both are worn bare, with footpads almost gone, eyes missing, and whiskers lost, but loved and remembered none the less. So, my love of bears came early. So it was no surprise that Buddy Bear arrived on the path.
Penny and I had greeted Aslan with delightful hellos and a woof. I had bent down on one knee to better give him a hug. I had pondered all week as to what he smelled like. I could not say that he had a smell, too crude, or a scent, not lion-y enough, but more like he had a fragrance. Now, it was not a feminine perfume fragrance, more like a men’s aftershave. Engaging and unforgettable. Nothing like I had ever smelled before. He gave Penny a lick that spun her in a summer salt, woofing happily. She really took to her new friend, as did I. I was so pleased to see and smell him again, I felt so safe.
Buddy Bear, or Bear for short, came lumbering out of the underbrush on the left side of the path. He was not at all quiet or careful, just came crashing through the greenery and flowers. Penny was not at all pleased at the intruder. She was standing between Aslan’s front feet, went rigid and began to growl. Aslan made a sound like a purring roar, softly, and she sat down and was quiet. I wish I could get her to do that, but no purring roar can I make.
Bear stood up on his hind legs and stretched, then coming to rest on all fours again before dropping down on his belly. I estimated that both he and Aslan when upright stood at the same height. If I were to be in close, the top on my head would not reach their chins. Something I would experience later. Buddy Bear then rolled over on his back to show us that even though he was a bear, he wanted to be our buddy. I walked over to him and began to scratch under his chin. He made a soft grumbling sound and stretched it out further. I scratched away. His coat was black-brown and softer than I expected. His claws were deep in his paws and as time went on, I only saw them rarely. His ears had tuffs of stiffer hair poking out of them. His whiskers were long and sharp. His eyes were closed, but later I discovered they were a light hazel.
Penny slowly came over to my side, her nose twitching madly, and she was not so softly whining. She was trembling and kept looking up at me. “Good girl, it’s ok, good girl” I repeated. She got close enough to get a big sniff of bear and was not so happy. She hopped back with a bark. Bear seemed to get that we had a dilemma, so he rolled over on his side. I got down and put my head on his flank and an arm over his neck. Not so comfortable, but Penny got the idea. She came closer and was more curious than cautious. Bear smelled strongly to me; I can only imagine what her wonder nose experienced. He smelled of spring earth, newly turned for planting. Loam, real earth not Miracle Grow. The loam smell mixed with the scent of a bag of fresh ground Peet’s coffee. The combination was powerful, but not unpleasant.
Penny was warming up and did her nose-to-nose friend greeting. He gave her a lick, spilling her off her feet, but playful. Shoulders down and butt and tail in the air, she signaled play. I got up and grinned at them both, “we have a winner!” Aslan walked up to join us, and we turned down the path to the pond. I wondered what other surprises might be in store.
Arriving to a happy chorus of frogy music, I settled in against the wall to watch and wait. Aslan lay down near me and twitched his tail, creating instant play for Penny. She and I play Capture the Paw, and this was his version of the game. She would succeed in pinning his tail to the ground only to have him pull it away. She would give her huffy sound of enjoyment and capture it again. Bear came and lay next to me so I could rub his head, ears, and neck. He settled in with a sigh and a humph. I relaxed and listened to the music.
My best/worst Christmas was when I was a new teen and everything was wrong. I was grumpy. When I was asked what I wanted for Christmas, I replied “nothing”. And then I would get grumpier. About 10 days before Christmas my mother and I went shopping in the University District in Seattle. She went into a 5 & 10-cent store on University Avenue. I wandered, being totally uninterested in whatever it was she was looking for. Now the truth was I was between child and teen and I didn’t know which was which. I did not know this of course until I spotted a bear. He was up on the highest shelf in the store, was yellow and brown and was huge! My inside little girl who wanted to believe in Santa, magical fairies, and big protector bears, I wanted that bear desperately. I pointed him out to Mom who shrugged and went on about her shopping. All the way home I thought about the bear. I was no longer grumpy, I was obsessed.
When Daddy got home, I told him all about the bear, in fact I told them both all about the bear all the time every day. As the big day got closer, I got more frantic. I went to bed on Christmas Eve wanting it so badly and so afraid it would not be there in the morning. I raced downstairs as soon as it was light and my parents said OK, and there he was. I was stunned and thrilled. On the spot I named him Butterford, no idea why. And he was big, about 4 feet tall, bigger than your average stuffed bear. I loved him, and all was right in my world both inside and out.
I found out years later that my dad had finally realized that my obsession was serious and that he better do something about it. The story goes that he tracked down the owner of the store on Christmas Eve and explained the situation. Fortunately, I had described it so often that he knew what to ask for. The owner came back to the store, opened up and sold Dad the bear. On Christmas Day, my heart was happy that dreams came true. When I learned of how Butterford came into my life, I learned of the depth of my father’s love. I still have him today. He rests in the homemade cradle surrounded by homemade pillows. Mended, patched, thread-bare, one-eyed, he continues to remind me of the best/worst Christmas of my childhood.
All this came back as I sat with Buddy Bear, stoking, and petting this huge animal that I felt so safe with. Bears and lions, here with frogs. What is this place that is beginning to be so important to Penny and me? I cycled back through the “is it real, and I crazy” thinking. But watching Penny resting after Capture the Tail, remembering the wet clothes, the smells, and the music, how can it not be?
I stood up abruptly; I want to leave here, now. The animals all sensed my distress and came to be with me. Tears streaming, I looked at Aslan, are you real? And Bear? Like the young teen of years ago, I wanted to believe. “Penny, come”. I clipped on her leash and almost ran out. At the edge, I stopped and looked back. They were both there, halfway down the path, backlit by the light. I left.
