Bear Country

by Doreen Cronin

  For Nancy Lee

  —D. C.

  For Talulabel.

  Listen to the bees and stay

  out of bear country

  —S. G.

  Introductions

  Ah, the change of the seasons . . .

  My name is J. J. Tully, retired search-and-rescue dog, and every season has its rescues. But no matter the weather, search-and-rescue dogs will brave the elements and get you to safety. We’ll search high and low in the rain, wind, sleet, and snow. I once spent so much time digging an amateur skier out of a snowbank that my left eyeball froze solid. Couldn’t see straight until it thawed out in the spring. Personally, I prefer fall rescues. My eyes stay nice and soft, and the happy rescue pictures are always so pretty because of the leaves.

  You know who else is out in all kinds of weather? These four:

  Dirt: Short, yellow, fuzzy

  Real Name: Peep

  Specialty: Foreign languages, math, colors, computer codes

  Sugar: Short, yellow, fuzzy

  Real Name: Little Boo

  Specialty: Breaking and entering, interrupting

  Poppy: Short, yellow, fuzzy

  Real Name: Poppy

  Specialty: Sugarology

  Sweetie: Short, yellow, fuzzy

  Real Name: Sweet Coconut Louise

  Specialty: None that I can see

  I am officially retired from the rescue business, but this month alone, I’ve pulled Sugar out of a tomato (long story), Sweetie out of the garden hose (another long story), Poppy out of a hole in the fence (short story, but not very interesting), and Dirt out of the dictionary (hard to explain).

  If you ever get lost (or stuck) in my yard, I’ll be happy to help you, too. In the meantime, don’t eat tomatoes bigger than you are, stay out of the hose no matter how thirsty you are, try to use the front gate, and remember, dictionaries are heavier than they look. Oh, yeah, and if your eyeball starts to freeze, it’s time to go inside.

  Chapter 1

  Knit, click, knit, click, knit, click.

  Knit, click, knit, click, knit, click.

  Dirt paid careful attention to her knitting needles, counting the stitches as she went. She gave the yarn a big tug, and Sugar’s yellow head appeared from inside the rolling ball of rainbow yarn.

  “What are you doing in my yarn??” asked Dirt, annoyed.

  “It’s my new sweater–sleeping bag. I call it a sweating bag.”

  “I’m using that yarn to knit everyone a scarf for the cooler weather,” said Dirt, giving the ball another pull. “I don’t think it should smell like chicken sweat!”

  “Look, kid, at the end of the day, we all smell like chicken sweat. Besides, why do all that work?” asked Sugar, climbing out of the ball. “It’s perfect the way it is! Just toss everyone a ball of wool and call it a day.”

  “Sugar’s right,” said Sweetie, her head appearing out of the top of a ball of rainbow-colored yarn. “They’re kind of perfect just the way they are.” Sweetie tipped backward and rolled down the ramp of the chicken coop.

  “Sweetie!” yelled Poppy, running after his sister.

  When Sweetie rolled to a stop, she found herself under the muddy sneaker of Anna McClanahanahan and looking straight up into her nostrils. “Um, Anna, you’ve got a few . . . uh . . . bats in the cave,” she said shyly.

  “Huh?” asked Anna, looking down at her.

  “Cars in the garage?” tried Poppy, now standing next to his yarn ball of a sister.

  Anna’s face was still blank.

  “Ahem, you have visible mucus in your nostrils,” explained Poppy.

  “Why didn’t you just say so?” asked Anna.

  “I was trying to be polite!” said Sweetie, ducking her head back into her cozy rainbow ball.

  “I need your help,” Anna declared as she cleared her nostrils.

  “You’re gonna have to handle those yourself,” said Sugar as she walked down the ramp with Dirt right behind her. “Bat removal is a highly personal situation.”

  “But I really do need your help, little chickens,” said Anna.

  “It’s a little early in the morning to get lost,” said Sugar, “but if you walk out the gate that you came in and turn left, your house is exactly two doors down. Case closed.”

  “I’m not lost!” replied Anna, sniffling. “My hams—WAAAHHHHHH!” Anna burst into tears. Sugar tossed her the entire ball of rainbow-colored yarn with Sweetie still inside of it.

  “I don’t speak wet, kid,” said Sugar. “Wipe your nose and pull yourself together.”

  “My . . . hiccup . . . pet . . . hiccup . . . hamster is missing!” Anna continued.

  “Can you describe him?” asked Dirt.

  “He’s just the cutest, sweetest, fuzziest hamster in the world!” declared Anna, tossing the Sweetie ball back to Sugar. Sugar let it roll right past her as she flipped open her investigation notebook.

  “This isn’t a love song, kid,” said Sugar. “It’s a missing pet report. Name?”

  “Anna McClanahanahan,” she answered.

  “The hamster, kid,” said Sugar, letting out a heavy sigh.

  “Stan the Cutie Man McClanahanahan,” said Anna, wiping away tears.

  “No wonder he ran away,” mumbled Sugar. “Height, weight, eye color, tattoos, scars?”

  “Well, he’s about four inches long,” said Anna.

  “Got it,” said Sugar, writing in her notebook. “Weight?”

  “About ten pounds,” guessed Anna.

  “Either you mean ounces, or you’ve got a funny name for your bowling ball,” said Sugar. “Dirt, this is kind of your area. . . . Talk her through it, will you?”

  “A pound is about how much a can of beans weighs,” explained Dirt. “Do you think your hamster weighs more or less than a can of beans?”

  “I’m not sure,” answered Anna. “I think less?”

  “Good job, Anna,” said Dirt. “Now, there are sixteen ounces in a pound and a slice of bread weighs about an ounce,” said Dirt. “So do you think your hamster weighs more than a slice of bread?”

  “Well, if he doesn’t, he either blew away, or he’s inside the vacuum,” said Sugar.

  “What does ‘inside the vacuum’ mean?” asked Anna.

  “It means currently inside the vacuum,” replied Sugar. “Poppy, go check the vacuum.”

  “He definitely weighs more than a slice of bread,” said Anna confidently.

  “Good job,” said Dirt. “So more than a slice of bread and less than a can of beans?”

  “Definitely,” said Anna. “Maybe even more than a sandwich.”

  “Which weighs more? A hamster the size of a peanut butter–and-jelly sandwich, or a hamster the size of a bologna-and-cheese sandwich?” asked Sweetie.

  “Don’t mind Sweetie,” said Sugar. “She found a standardized test in the garbage a week ago, and she still can’t think straight.” She patted Sweetie on the head.

  “I’m just going to put him down as hamster-size. What color is his fur?” asked Dirt.

  “Brown and white—oh, and, he’s missing a tooth!”

  “Hold it right there,” said Sugar, lowering her notepad. “A brown-and-white hamster with a missing tooth?”

  “Yes,” said Anna.

  “Makes a funny sound when he breathes sometimes because of the hole in his smile?”

  “Yes! Yes! That’s the one!” said Anna, excited.

  “White patch around one eye?” asked Sugar.

  “Yes! That’s him! That’s him!”

  “Smells like pineapple and cinnamon sugar?” asked Sugar.

  “That’s his favorite!!” shrieked Anna.

  “Kid, your hamster’s name is not Stan the Cutie Man McClanahanahan,” said Sugar.

  “It isn’t
?” asked Anna.

  “His real name is Zigor,” explained Sugar. “It’s Russian for George. But around these parts we call him Zippy the Whistle on account of the funny sound he makes sometimes.”

  “So you’ve seen him?” she asked. “You know where he is?”

  “Yes and no,” said Sugar. “Zippy’s not in any danger, and he’ll be back soon. In fact, I bet you he’s back by lunch. Case closed.”

  “So . . . you do know where he is?” asked Anna.

  “No,” said Sugar. “But I know he’ll be back.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Anna.

  “Sure as there’s another bat in your cave, kid,” said Sugar.

  Sweetie rolled away as fast as she could.

  Chapter 2

  When Anna was out of sight, Sugar told the squad to follow her to the back door of the house. She knocked five times fast, then waited. The door opened slowly, revealing a furry brown-and-white hamster with a unique smile, a white patch of fur around one eye, and an unmistakable whiff of pineapple and cinnamon sugar.

  “Stan the Cutie Man McClanahanahan!” Poppy gasped.

  “My name is Zigor,” replied the hamster. “But you can call me Zippy.” The hamster held the door open until Sugar, Dirt, Poppy, and the ball of Sweetie were inside.

  “You put me in an awkward position this morning, Zippy,” said Sugar. “Your kid came by, blubbering all over the place about how you had gone missing.”

  “My kid?” asked Zippy.

  “Yes,” said Sugar.

  “Anna McClanahanahan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dark curly hair? Freckles? Big, beautiful brown eyes?” asked Zippy.

  “Same one,” said Sugar.

  “Bats in the cave?” asked Zippy.

  “YES!! THAT ONE!” said Sugar, exasperated. “How is it she hasn’t noticed until today that you take a walk every morning from six fifteen a.m. until seven thirty a.m. in order to sneak in a delicious breakfast over here?”

  “She’s usually not up this early,” said Zippy, climbing up the reusable mesh shopping bag hanging from a hook at the end of the counter. Sugar, Dirt, Poppy, and the Sweetie rainbow ball followed his lead.

  “Well, something got her out of bed bright and early today,” said Sugar.

  “Never mind that,” said Zippy. “You have a much bigger problem right now.”

  “We do?” asked Dirt.

  “You do,” answered Zippy. “Barbara’s missing.”

  “Our Barbara?” asked Dirt.

  “Yes,” answered Zippy.

  “The Barbara in the house?” asked Poppy. “The one who feeds us and takes care of us?”

  “That one,” said Zippy.

  “Tall lady? Brown hair? Pretty blue eyes? Smells like gardenias?” asked Sweetie.

  “YES,” said Zippy.

  “Drives the silver pickup truck?” asked Sugar.

  “YES. THE SAME ONE! How many Barbaras do you know?!?” A long steady whistle came out through his teeth.

  “What makes you so sure she’s missing?” asked Dirt. “She probably just left the house, you know, like people do.”

  “Barbara is a creature of habit,” said Zippy the Whistle. “Every Saturday, she drinks a cup of coffee and eats a healthy breakfast of fresh fruit, rolled oats, and a dash of cinnamon sugar.”

  “Go on,” said Sugar.

  “Well, before she does that, she opens the front door and grabs the newspaper, which is always delivered in a plastic bag on the stoop. The newspaper comes early, around six twenty-two a.m. That’s when I climb into the bag and wait.”

  “Go on,” said Sugar.

  “Barbara brings in the newspaper bag and places it on the counter. I climb out while she puts on her sneakers, and I hide behind the canister of rolled oats.”

  “Go on,” said Sugar.

  “After her breakfast, she brings the bowl, the fork, and the coffee mug to the sink. Then she goes out the back door to feed you. That’s when I spend some time in the sink and eat some of the leftover fruit from the bowl. It takes her exactly seven minutes to feed you. So I keep my eye on the clock, and when six minutes have passed, I climb back down and wait.”

  “The only thing missing right now is the part of the story where somebody goes missing,” said Sugar.

  “As I was saying, I wait by the back door behind the recycle bin so I can just scurry back out when she opens the door to come back in.”

  “Go on,” said Sugar.

  “Well . . . did you eat this morning?” asked Zippy.

  Sugar looked at Sweetie. Sweetie looked at Poppy. Poppy looked at Dirt.

  “Come to think of it,” said Sweetie, “I’m hungry!”

  “That’s because she never went outside after breakfast. I stayed behind the recycle bin for almost an hour before I realized something was wrong.”

  “So she’s been to the sink, because her bowl is there,” said Dirt.

  “Yes, so somewhere between the sink and the yard, Barbara got lost,” said Zippy.

  “Barbara is a trained emergency medical technician, has led search-and-rescue teams on missions all over the world, and, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she also has a black belt in karate. . . .”

  “Your point?” asked Sugar.

  “My point is that she’s a highly capable person, and I am completely confident that she did not get lost going from the sink to the backyard.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Sugar.

  “She also speaks French,” added Dirt.

  “Like that ever helped anybody,” said Sugar.

  “I don’t see any reason to worry,” said Dirt. “I’m sure she just walked into town.”

  “It’s seventeen miles to town!” cried Sweetie. “She’ll get tired and hungry and confused, and then it will be dark!”

  “It’s closer to one mile, Sweetie,” said Dirt. “I’m sure she can handle a mile.”

  “How far is a mile?” asked Sweetie.

  “A mile is five tomatoes,” said Poppy.

  “See what happens when you don’t get a healthy breakfast?” said Sugar. “Gibberish!”

  “Sugar, I think he knows something we don’t know,” said Dirt. “Go ahead, Poppy.”

  “A mile is 5,280 feet,” said Poppy proudly. “FIVE-TWO-EIGHT-O. Five tomatoes.”

  “Oooh, I like that,” said Dirt.

  “Listen, no matter how you slice it, five tomatoes is a lot of ground to cover, even for a medically trained, French-speaking, search-and-rescue expert with a black belt,” said Sugar. “We have to go after her. Zippy’s been to town, so he’ll lead the way.”

  “Into town?!?” cried Poppy. “It’s too far! We’ll never make it!”

  “If a hamster the weight of a peanut butter–and-jelly sandwich can walk five tomatoes, how long would it take four chickens if one is wrapped in a ball of yarn?” asked Sweetie.

  “Poor Sweetie,” said Sugar. “She may never be the same.”

  Chapter 3

  “Before we do anything drastic,” said Dirt, “I think we need to confirm that Barbara isn’t actually in the house. For all we know, she’s in the basement doing laundry.”

  “Dirt has a point,” said Sugar. “We’ll do a quick search of the house—”

  RING!!!

  The squad jumped at the sound of the phone.

  RING!!!

  “Answer it!!” cried Poppy. “It could be Barbara calling for help!”

  RING!!!

  “Hello?” said Dirt, tilting to the left from the weight of the receiver. Then she nodded. “May I ask who’s calling?” She furrowed her brow. “Just a moment, please.”

  “It’s for you,” said Dirt, handing the phone to Sugar. “He won’t give me a name.”

  “Sugar here,” said Sugar into the phone, before turning back to Zippy and the squad. “A little privacy, please!” She motioned for them to give her some space and then spoke into the phone again.

  “I see,” said Sugar, nodding slowly.
>
  “Are you certain?” asked Sugar, beginning to pace.

  “Big thing? Brown? Scary?” asked Sugar, nodding for another minute. “Ra-BUM? Ra-BUM? You’re certain? I see.” Sugar placed the receiver back on the hook.

  “Who was that?” asked Dirt.

  “Dangerous Danny Finnegan,” said Sugar. “Guinea pig who lives in the house behind us. Owes me a couple of favors.”

  “What’s a big, brown, scary thing?” asked Dirt.

  “A bear!” yelled Sweetie with mouthful of pineapple. “Wait a minute. . . . That was too easy.”

  “ ‘Ra-BUM? Ra-BUM?’ ” asked Dirt.

  “No idea,” said Sugar. “Dangerous Danny mumbled something about a headless bear and a funny sound. But he didn’t have breakfast this morning, either, so I’m not sure he’s thinking clearly.”

  “How did Dangerous Danny know to call you here?” asked Dirt.

  “A little bird told him,” said Sugar, turning to Zippy. “Now, we’re going to need the Hammer.”

  “What on earth for?!” asked Dirt.

  “Hammer, with a capital ‘H,’ ” said Sugar. “She’s a house mouse, tiny little thing, spends most of her time in the basement.”

  “Why do they call her the Hammer?” asked Poppy.

  “You don’t want to know,” explained Zippy right before he let out a long, slow, deep whistle. Then two short higher-pitched ones. A small, gray mouse appeared from someplace behind the oven.

  “Hammer, you know Zippy, and this is the squad—Dirt, Poppy, and that rolling ball of rainbow down there is Sweetie.” They exchanged polite nods. “Did you happen to see Barbara in the basement this morning?”

  “Our Barbara?” replied Hammer.

  “Yes,” said Dirt.

  “The Barbara in the house?” asked Hammer. “The one who feeds you and takes care of you?”

  “That one,” said Sweetie.

  “Tall lady? Brown hair? Pretty blue eyes? Smells like gardenias?” asked Hammer.