The lively forest of Hatuga, rolling down the mountains into an abundant valley of verdant hues and bluish shades, is home to many a colorful and unique creature. The residents possess sharp intellect, partnered with an ability to wield it effectively – for better or worse. Though, if worse, we can safely presume that it was once intended for better. These Hatugan gentlebeasts are naturally better-natured, you see, and I cannot imagine them being anything but courteous for their own benefits and each other’s.
One of these fair residents was Mister Bear. He was known by that particular name because there were only two bears that came to settle in the Hatuga – the other known by the name of Missus Bear. It was impossible to mix them up, for they were clearly not close relations; Mister Bear’s head was thicker, his mane shaggier, his jowls saggier, his claws sharper, and his thighs thicker. Missus Bear was simply less so.
Mister Bear lived in a cheery cave carved right into Old Man Mountain. He took offense to the name, since he was neither old nor a man; but his efforts to have it changed were blocked on all sides by Old Man himself. Not that a change of name would matter, since he never had any visitors. Which is a shame, for Mister Bear was a fine, imposing beast with trimmed fur coat and checkered tweed pants. He always kept his spats nice and shiny for those rare exchanges with Missus Bear. But there was one small problem:
Mister Bear had a temper. A downright nasty one, like a cold that sneaks up and catches you by surprise, with coughs and sneezes and hacks and wheezes. A habit of letting out a terrible roar at the least provocation! The residents of the forest just could not stand to be around anyone who couldn’t control those ear-bursting, heart-pounding, gut-wrenching, brain-popping, throat-scratching, nerve-snapping, stomach-busting roars. It didn’t matter how trimmed his fur coat was, or how splendid his tweed pants, or how pristinely cleaned his spats, or how refined his conversation, or even how courteous the other animals pretended to be around him.
Mister Bear was, in plain terms, a social nuisance.
Witness one creature, who stood by Mister Bear’s side despite his tragic ostracization! This hard-headed paradigm of the prairie was Buffalo Biff – Mister Bear’s sole friend. I cannot say why he was named Buffalo Biff, for Biff was, in fact, a Bison. It is a common mistake to call a Bison a Buffalo, but we shall simply call him Biff so that his identity is kept unscathed, one way or the other. But Biff honestly wouldn’t care what you think. He’s a shamelessly confident fellow like that.
What really matters is that Biff and Mister Bear were comrades, even though Biff was secretly maddened by Mister Bear’s foul temper. For example: a friendly conversation about clothes turned sour in an instant when Mister Bear was forced to defend his nicely-trimmed coat, while Biff declared his favorite orange tracksuit to be the true setter of Hatuga’s fashion trends. In actuality, it meant small beans; they were the only odd pair of animals who actually wore clothing in the whole neighborhood. But Mister Bear would have none of it.
Before he was even aware, Mister Bear was huffing and pouting and growling and whining and snarling and jumping and clawing and clenching, reaching his peak in an angry ”GRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!” that sent a nestful of sleeping owls tumbling out of bed and hooting disoriented into the scarlet sky.
Biff was unimpressed.
“Mister Bear, for your own sake,
And because you are my friend,
I must confess you make me ache
From this flaw you cannot mend.
Therefore henceforth I shall pursue
A most ingenious plan:
To cure this rage that troubles us
And make you loved again!”
Mister Bear embarrassingly wrung his paws, for it was the first time Biff had ever confronted him about such a personal matter. But he had also simultaneously proposed a solution…so surely he had been confronted with the best intentions. Biff was a rather blunt Bison, after all, and Mister Bear was grateful for it:
“Your words ring true, indeed, dear friend!
How pleased I am to hear you’ll lend
A helpful hand to helpless brute
To finally furious nature uproot.
I’m especially pleased to realize
The extent to which you are Buffalo-wise
In quickly concocting ingenious plot
To remedy my homely lot!”
Biff smiled knowingly to himself, for he secretly knew he had no solution to the problem. Not one to be easily deterred from contributing to such a public good, he painfully tried to think up one right there on the spot – but those bees! Those rich, snobby bees, making all sorts of buzzing in their aristocratic hive, distracting Biff from helping a comrade in need of a lesson in propriety! Truly, bees were the most selfish of insects.
In a sudden flash of inspiration, Biff clicked his hooves together, just as you would snap your fingers.
“The answer came quite clear to me:
I’ll have you frisk that hive of bees
Hanging aloft in loftiest tree
As if their honey you would seize.
And, when they swarm to defend
Their precious liquid gold,
Your temper withstands the stings they send
Should you be so bold!
How expedient, a Buffalo brain!”
Mister Bear shared only an eighth of the enthusiasm his comrade held for this plan –it seemed a tad on the dangerous side. But, with a bit of trust and a bit of reluctance, he followed Biff to the highest tree in Hatuga. Bees by the thousands buzzed unawares in the branches sixty yards above, blending the sweetest royal jellies; little did they expect such a disturbance today for the public good.
Digging in his dull claws, which he unfortunately filed yesterday morning, Mister Bear heaved his way up the trunk. Its orchids were in full bloom (a peculiar hybrid it was), so one could tell that the bees’ honey would be especially delicious. Naturally, the bees were conscious of this, and so had doubled their guard.
The bees didn’t care how reputedly delicious their honey was, or if they were contributing to the public good. They would not tolerate a bear, no matter how well groomed and hygienic, sticking his grubby paws into their prized product. It was meant for her Highness, and her Highness alone.
“God save the Queen!” was the bees’ rallying cry as they drove their stingers into poor unfortunate Mister Bear’s behind. Needless to say, his temper was lost in an instant.
“GRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!”
Propelled by the force of his own angry bellow, Mister Bear fell from the great height and broke seven branches off that beautiful Orchid Tree as he tumbled down, down, and landed on Buffalo Biff’s enormous hump. Biff shoved Mister Bear off, more than slightly irritated.
“No, no, no, that will not work;
You gave up on the spot!
If trying tasks you choose to shirk,
Then help you I cannot!”
But Mister Bear looked so sad and dejected that Biff’s heart melted a little. It was for the public good, he encouraged himself. Helping his comrade to his feet and wiping his bleeding nose with the sleeve of the orange tracksuit, Biff wondered if the whole enterprise was just a load of bull. Suddenly, in another flash of inspiration, Biff clicked his hooves together.
“I swear to you, I’ve got it now!
As far as talking goes,
We should seek out Señor Cow
And trade him verbal blows.
If you withstand his grating voice
Without so much a flinch,
Controlling temperamental choice
Shall be a simple cinch!
How superfluous, a Buffalo brain!”
Unfortunately for Mister Bear, the flaw in the plan would be his own friend’s knack for commonly misplaced diction. It follows from Biff’s ignorance that Señor Cow, being a Señor and not a Señorita, would not be a cow at all, but rather a bull. An honorable, honest, handsome bull, who takes much stock in the fact that he is, indeed, a bull. To call such a masculine bull a cow would be an insult, equivalent to calling him girly. But Biff never took the time to truly know Señor Cow and therefore would not understand the simple fact that his name was Señor Bull. So, when Mister Bear, full of good intentions, approached Señor Bull under the pretense that his name possessed no connotations of gender, Señor Bull took this as a joke lacking in all sorts of decorum. As such, he verbally ridiculed the most vulnerable parts of Mister Bear.
“Mister Bear is so mopey with fear
‘Cause no animal dare to be near
His pair of old spats
That might squish them flat
Since they’re as terribly wide as his rear.”
Mister Bear’s spats were admittedly too large for his back paws, and his behind was indeed enormous, but to point these details out with such mean-spirited impropriety was only asking for a furious roar. Which Mister Bear was all too inclined to provide:
“RRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAA -“
Señor Bull, familiar with Mister Bear’s nasty temper, was not inclined to a migraine headache. With a well-placed headbutt, he stopped short Mister Bear’s infamous shout by sending him tumbling headlong down a hill.
It is an unfounded proverb, that a rolling bear gathers much moss. This moss took the form of Biff, who happened to be hiding within earshot. Both beasts were sent flopping and thudding and obtaining a great many bruises until they finally settled at the base of the hill.
Biff was more than a smidge infuriated. You might even say that Biff was miffed.
“Mister Bear, what’s your deal?
I try to teach you well,
But, every time you find the feel,
You ruin it with a yell!”
Mister Bear was growing skeptical of Biff, especially since the Bison who called himself a Buffalo could not differentiate between a bull and a cow. But Mister Bear was too beaten, and chose to keep his disagreements in bashful silence.
Biff softened when he saw how downtrodden his dear comrade was at constant failure, and when he recalled that this was all for the public good. Almost immediately, without bothering to help Mister Bear to his feet, Biff clicked together his hooves in inspiration.
“The next succeeds, or I’m a fool!
We’ll call on Missus Bear;
Then you’ll be forced to keep your cool
And thus win lighter fare.
For conversation here is key,
And confidence the lock.
Off you go to finally see
You’re not of meager stock!
How noble, a Buffalo brain!”
If put to a game of Truth or Dare, Mister Bear would confess that Missus Bear rattled the butterflies caged in his stomach. She was kind, sweet, understanding, patient – all qualities Mister Bear valued very much. Not to mention, the most important thing: she was the only other bear in Hatuga.
The pair found Missus Bear bathing in the glistening mouth of a river that poured into a lake, measuring many fathoms deep. At the impatient prodding of Biff, Mister Bear gathered the courage to plod towards her. His paws felt stuck with honey (which they were) and his gut felt sore and bruised (which it was), but he found the courage to move ever-forwards.
What a pleasant surprise for Missus Bear! Secretly, she took in Mister Bear’s inelegant whole and found it absolutely adorable. I say secretly, but it was only a secret to Mister Bear, who was so worried and self-conscious that he hardly ever approached her. Missus Bear was patient, and undeterred; Mister Bear just had a little growing-up to do.
But Mister Bear was ready this time! Time to conquer his impulsivity, full steam ahead, no holds barred!
It’s a shame he was so focused on Missus Bear that a wayward root escaped notice, stretched along his path. Mister Bear tripped over it and fell flat on his face, a great rumble shaking the wood. He tried to stand up, but could not; his snout had stuck in a gopher hole.
Missus Bear giggled to herself, which could not be helped. And, naturally, burned to the cheeks with shame, Mister Bear could not help himself, either:
“GRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!!!!!”
Failure. A humiliating failure. And this one was so utterly and downright defeating that Mister Bear opened his massive maw to shout to the heavens one more time…
And nothing came out.
Mister Bear didn’t feel one leftover shred of anger. He didn’t feel enraged, or miffed, or peeved, or upset, or flustered, or furious, or beside himself, or heated, or even discombobulated. He felt…relaxed, even. Was it because of that sweet smile, that knowing patience, staring back at him?
Missus Bear smiled and shook her fur dry. Standing on her hind legs, she walked over to Mister Bear in a gracious manner and placed a tender paw on his shoulder. Looking him eye to eye, she imparted him thus:
“Let your anger free
When you want a place of peace
To help clear your mind.”
Mister Bear was grateful to the moon and back for his new friend’s patience, and took her wisdom to heart. Every morning, Mister Bear would venture far off onto the outskirts of the woodland and roar to his heart’s content. All that was left was a mere tickle in the back of his throat; that tickle gave him cause to laugh. And, the more he wished to laugh, the less tempting he found it to roar. And he never laughed more than when he was in Missus Bear’s company.
Soon, very soon, Mister Bear became a much-revered neighbor in the forest of Hatuga. He was invited to social gatherings and introduced to other patient, kindly gentlebeasts by Missus Bear. Thanks to his routine, when engaged in discourse, there would be not a growl left in him. Rather, he became known for his booming, infectious laugh (I dare not characterize it here, or risk laughing myself). Though his frustrating temper once defined him, Mister Bear learned how first to control it, and then replace it with love and laughter. And Mister Bear found he was truly happy because he did not have to change one bit. It was only necessary to want more, and work towards it…with the patience of a few good creatures, of course.
But, you ask, what became of that paragon of the prairie, Buffalo Biff?
Well, as soon as Mister Bear gave out that final tremendous roar, Biff abandoned the whole enterprise on behalf of the public good. Who cared about the public good, anyway? Who did that benefit?
Biff was absolutely infuriated that his plan failed to work. He was so infuriated, he tore his orange tracksuit (which he secretly despised, wearing it only because it was a gift from his grandmother) to ribbons and rampaged all over Hatuga. He frightened the residents more than Mister Bear ever did; most of all, because he stampeded about rump-naked. Such unabashed shamelessness made his neighbors feel just as bare.
Hatuga might be more agreeable if its inhabitants understood just when they ought to remain clothed, and when it is acceptable to be in the nude. Then again…it might not.
Oh, how vain, a Buffalo brain!
Morning's Early Dark 