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In case you were wondering ......what a fiction writer, crime scene investigator, crime lab director, and supposed cattle rancher really does when he's supposed to be writing:
But then too, you must keep in mind the underlying reality. As a forensic scientist, I am sworn to seek out and report the truth in a scrupulous manner. But as a fiction writer, I am basically a professional liar. You'd think they would have figured that out by now. Because given a choice ...
Uh oh, getting a little carried away there. Forgot that I'm still in the fiction writer mode. The truth is, Tank is a whole lot more scary and intimidating than Griz. Or at least I think so. Tank can make me nearly wet my pants just by flattening out his ears. Which is why that picture with Tank at the front of this web site is probably the only one like it I'll ever have, because it's highly unlikely that I will ever venture that far away from a protective human being inside Tank's compound again, no matter how mellow he happens to be acting at the time. Griz, on the other hand, is basically a 650lb hairy puppy dog with large claws and teeth who would rather wrestle (according to grizzly bear rules, whereby he always wins) or be scratched than just about anything. Except eat, of course. And yes, bears are omnivorous ...which means they will eat meat if fresh out of their favorite berries ... so guess who spends all of his spare cash at the local farmer's market before visiting Wildlife Images! [copyrighted Seattle Times photo above taken by Harley Soltes].
However, speaking of questions, since I've put this web site up, several people have written in to ask some absolutely fascinating questions, such as: Question 1: Were you really wrestling with Griz, or is he just nuzzling you?Answer: Depends on your definition of wrestling. The entire process gradually worked itself into a four-step routine, as far as Griz was concerned. Step #1: I would offer to be a nice guy and start scratching his neck (which he liked a lot), during which time he would gradually work a paw around one of my ankles. Step #2: He would take said ankle in a firm gasp and go in for the take-down. Step #3: I would make a futile human effort to resist. Step #4: I would get my face planted in the dirt/mud. To no great surprise, I suppose, this technique worked perfectly (as far as Griz was concerned) about 100 times in a row. So much for the advantage of human brains. Step #1: Step: 2:
Step #3 Step #4Question 2: How do you stop a grizzly bear from getting 'carried away' during a one-sided wrestling match?Answer: Dave would always yell "bad bear!" and Griz would immediately stop whatever he happened to be doing at the time, which was usually mushing my face or other portions of my anatomy into the mud, and look up sheepishly. I usually found this to be an excellent opportunity to feel around for my glasses and begin crawling toward the gate. I also noticed that Dave seemed to yell 'Bad Bear!" a lot when I was in the compound. Question 3: Will this technique work with a wild grizzly bear?Answer: If you are one of those interesting people who a) actually has good reason to think they might find themselves underneath a real, wild, honest-to-goodness grizzly bear out in the wilds of Mother Nature some day, and b) is under the impression that, for whatever reason, this is a perfectly rational question, then yes, yelling "Bad bear!" at the top of your lungs is probably as good an option as any. On the other hand, I wouldn't suggest wasting any time feeling around for pairs of glasses that you might have lost in the process. Oh yes, and did I mention that Griz has a normal-sized cat for a pet and companion, and that this bizarre but apparently satisfying relationship has been written up in People Magazine? Which, of course, in the way things seem to work with dear old Mother Nature, may be the most fictional part of this web page so far. For all I know, the cat may have a pet bear. But there are always the inherent realities of ranching ...
And in my spare time, trying to make water run downhill in the direction I (and my cows, presumably) would like it to go. You'd think that most of those tasks --- or at least the one involving downhill-running water --- would be relatively easy to accomplish, wouldn't you? "Especially for one 'a them supposedly smart forensic-scientist-type fellows", as my rancher-type neighbors like to put it. Charming fellows, my ranching neighbors. But their water does go downhill in the direction they want it to go, and their fences always seem to be upright, and I notice they rarely have to go all the way down to the local golf course to retrieve their cows, or find themselves reduced to placing an ad in the local paper ["lost, one cow, black & white, doesn't answer to ####"], and then have to put up with the inevitable local commentary ["Gee, you'd think a trained crime scene investigator ought to be able to find a 300 pound cow."], so I remain duly impressed. Let me put it this way ... I'd much rather be writing. Any day. |
Notice the idealic setting. The scenic view. The surrounding trees.
The bubbling water. Just the sort of environment absolutely guaranteed to unleash and
nourish the creative juices, thereby resulting in yet another thrilling chapter to keep
dear wife and persistent editor more-or-less at bay for a few days. Or at least that's
what I keep telling them.
I would much rather play with Griz than write. Any day. Mostly
because writing is actually hard work, whereas playing with a 650 pound grizzly bear is
merely stupid. Not to mention courageous, death-defying and ...
And to answer the obvious question, no, it's not smart to let a
grizzly bear rake his teeth across your head. On the other hand, he has a very
gentle touch ... and I never said I was. We won't get into my dear wife's comments.
Which, in my case, means diverting from my fiction writing and
bear-playing antics to perform critical ranching tasks ... like repairing my fences,
counting my cows, looking for my missing cows, spotting my missing cows out in the far
distance, pounding my forehead against an otherwise non-functional fence post, looking for
my saddle, looking for my cow horse, attempting to saddle up my cow horse, and then
ultimately retrieving my wandering cows on foot, all the while dreaming up pleasantly
satisfying stories in which a crazed assassin goes after a [deleted] cow horse with a
pitchfork ...