Honeydew is of the opinion that my beloved Bucky Dawg is utterly worthless, mostly because he is sweet and kind and self effacing.  So, when Buck sat out in the Little Field, where Honeydew and I were married, baying his fool head off for a good half hour this evening, Honeydew thought nothing of the same.

Honeydew is of the opinion that his beloved Roy Boy, the puppy, is the combined Einstein-Mother Teresa-Jack London of dogs.  So when Roy, after thirty minutes of Buck’s baying, suddenly leapt from his bed, howling at the door, Honeydew paid him some attention.  Looking out of our kitchen window, Honeydew’s sharp eyes immediately noted the cause of Buck and Roy’s consternation.

Mama Griz.  With two cubs.

Hillhouse sits on about an acre of fenced grass.  Two cattlegates provide east and south entrances.  The one pictured above, with the sow and her progeny, is the south cattlegate.  We’ve seen plenty of bears around here (last spring, we spent several evenings watching a griz drag a dead, frozen cow out of our pond and have a Mardi Gras sort of time consuming it; last summer, a black bear climbed up on the back of Honeydew’s flat bed and promptly popped my fancy new two seater inner tube, a birthday gift from Brother Dear), but today marked the first time we saw bears within the boundaries of our fences and yard.

Here’s mama and one of her cubs (you can see the legs of the second cub behind her), waltzing over the cattlegate like Angelina Jolie strutting down the red carpet with her brood.  No word on whether she’s made out with her brother, married Brad Pitt, or birthed/adopted cubs on multiple continents, too.

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