Page 42 of Little Fangs

We were far too loud for what we’d planned on doing, but like everything with him, I didn’t care. We lived in our own world, our bubble, our space. Nobody could get in here and get to us while we were together. And I’d hate to see them even try.

As we sat there, now both chuckling and staring at each other, a rustle sounded from behind. Micah’s eyes narrowed, his head turned sharply, and I turned slowly. And there it was. An American black bear, the fur around its mouth covered red.

“Oh god,” he whispered. “It’s killed something.”

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “Ninety-nine percent sure that’s just berries. It’s not gonna hurt us.”

It was still, as if we’d startled it. A huff came out of its snout, as if stressed by the situation.

“Can I—can I pet it?” Micah asked.

“It’ll run away,” I said.

But it didn’t.

He stood up, and as the black bear stepped back and onto its hind legs, Micah gave its belly a rub. “Oh my god,” he let out in the most adorable voice. “A real bear.”

“We should let it go.”

“But it’s a teddy bear,” he said, pouting at me. “Look. He likes belly rubs.” He went in with both hands now, scratching at the bear’s torso and belly. “I think it’s a he.”

From the look of him on hind legs, much larger than some of the black bears I’d come across in the area, it must’ve been male. They were bigger, and there didn’t appear to be any other bears around—no cubs, so the chances of it being male were higher.

“Then let’s let him go eat,” I said. “Or he’ll follow us back and rummage through our trash.”

Micah’s eyes lit up. “He can come home with us?”

“No, Micah, he’s a bear.”

“A literal teddy bear,” he said, and with that, he placed his head against the bear’s chest. “He’s soft too.”

The bear let out what I could only believe was a laugh, and then he fell onto his back, practically giving himself to Micah to pet. And the bear only squirmed a little under all those tickles and belly rubs.

“You’re an animal whisperer,” I said, unable to look away. “Let me take a picture.”

“No flash,” he said. “It’ll wash me out.”

I snapped the photo of them, then stared at it on my phone. They were adorable together, but he couldn’t bring the bear home with us. Not only because he had a teddy bear collection already, and they didn’t need daily care, but because he was still a wild animal—not Micah, the bear.

“Do you think he has a family?” Micah asked, now grabbing the bear on the sides of its face and playing with what I could only assume were fat stores for the winter.

“Probably. He’ll want to go home to them,” I said. “And we’re supposed to be hunting.”

Micah snickered. “I already caught something.” They both stood again, the bear reaching out and placing a paw on Micah’s shoulder, as if anointing him an honorary black bear. “Look, he’s my friend now.”

“Well, your friend probably has other friends,” I said. “And maybe they won’t be as friendly.”

He scoffed, looking up at the bear. “Think you’ll find my new friend would tell them I was cool and they’d all be my friends as well. Right?”

The bear, being a bear, didn’t respond, only stepped back on all fours and stared at me.

I was in awe at the way Micah was, even around what I assumed would’ve been scary for him. He didn’t hesitate to go toward it, or worry about how it might react. He was braver than he knew, and I loved that in him.

“Tell your friend we need to go,” I said. “He’ll scare off anything in the area.”

Micah pouted and sighed, all dramatic, before turning and repeating my words to the bear. And almost as if he completely understood, the bear wandered off through forest, dipping behind mossy trunks.

“That’s dangerous,” I said, holding my hand out to him.