When first I heard the door to my luxurious woodland manor fall from its splintered frame I assumed that I was being set upon by robbers or the local banditry. To my shock it was no mere brigand of the hills that had forced entry to my palatial estate but rather that carnivorous four legged ursine mammal known as a bear. Rest assured, gentle reader, that I at once recovered from this state of confusion and began to gently cajole this unwelcome visitor to leave via the same entrance at which he had entered. Never before had a bear trod upon the gilded floors of my home, nor placed paw upon my decorative couch. I once again began an appeal to this uncouth creature, that we may reach an understanding based on mutual respect and the dignity inherent of all beasts that walk upon this earth. My pleas were not as persuasive as the desire this bear had to push over my grandfather’s clock, an heirloom of such value that the noise of it being crushed under the brutish force of a bear’s claw made a wail that sounded as though the ghost of my grandfather was brought to this earth from some unimaginable torment in the afterlife only to see his beloved clock destroyed.
This is almost assuredly illegal, and as I stood under the opulent archway that separated the spacious receiving chamber from one of the many other rooms and halls of my sprawling estate I considered calling for aid. Surely they would understand wouldn’t they? But what if upon finding a bear within the ornate and well furnished rooms of my woodland manorial estate they inform me that having a bear within them is illegal, perhaps even a greater crime than the one the bear committed upon his entry? I could not take the risk. The implications whirled, it is illegal to feed a bear, but also illegal to starve a bear! I would be obligated to feed it in the manner dictated by custom if it stayed until the evening hours! Would the bear, seated at the end of the rare oaken table whereupon I take all my evening meals even enjoy the meals served atop fine silver? I would become a laughingstock. Even thinking of going in to town and making my purchases of salmon and cod and hearing a sly smirk barely concealed behind “Ah…is this for you or the new resident of your woodland manor?” makes my face grow bright with anger and shame.
We stared at each other for a long time, he and I. Eyes locked across the debris strewn antechamber, a piece of dislodged door floating lazily in the imported marble welcoming fountain. I knew then in my heart the solution. The bear would not leave, but I would.
