29 March—The good news is that bears in Connecticut have won a reprieve for at least another year. The General Assembly’s Environment Committee voted 18-13 against Senator Craig Miner’s ongoing, diligent effort to allow bear hunting.

Craig is among those, including the Department of Energy and Environmental Protection (DEEP), who maintain that the state’s flourishing bear population has become unmanageable and poses a growing threat to human and captive animal life, as well as property.

So what. Deer eat rhododendrons and always beat me to the best fruit in my orchard when I had one. Oh, but deer can be hunted. So can squirrels, chipmunks, skunks, raccoons, beavers, foxes, coyotes, muskrats, opossums, wild turkeys, crows, pigeons, doves, fish, and virtually all other non-human animals. Many of those innocent creatures can also be trapped in any number of inhumane ways.

I’ve never met a bear I didn’t like. In fact, I’ve never met a bear. I’ve come close, mind you, but never had the privilege or pleasure. A few years ago, a bear came up to the front door. The door was ajar, the storm door in place. The bear looked like he was about to knock on it to introduce himself and assure me that he wasn’t a Jehovah’s Witness or Mormon. But Cash and Maisie, my Scotties, would have none of it. So the poor bear turned and hightailed it before I could even find the camera under the mess on my desk to record the visit.

Last winter there were huge, ursine-looking footprints in the snow coming from the woods, circling the house and leading up the driveway to Harold X’s property, from which, you probably won’t recall, I’ve been banned. So I lost track of the track.

And just the other day I noticed a huge deposit of poo—scat, as the pros call it—not far from the former hay shed. Given the size and composition of the stuff, I assume it came out of a bear. But there was no trace of Charmin, so I can’t be sure . . .