I earned my nickname when I was about 12, a big kid, living way out in the
country. I had shot a sow with a cub, that was eatin' Mom's chicken eggs,
and raised the cub myself. A bear is easily killed with a shot to the base
of the ear, even with a .22. Anyway, I raised that dang cub for several
years 'til he was about 300 lbs, fat 'n sassy. I frequently took him trout
fishing with me down to Foley Crik, which was only a half mile or so from
home. One summer evening, Bear and I (I named him Bear) walked down to the
crik for an hour or 2 of fishing before dark, and he kept playin' and
splashin' in the water, scarin' the fish. I yelled at him "Bear, knock it
off!", he would get outta the water and I didn't see him for a bit. But
purty soon he was back again, splashin' 'n spookin' the fish. Finally, in
disgust, I broke off a big alder branch and beat Bear's flea bitten ##### all
the way home, where I discovered my Bear was sleepin' under the porch... ; )
Bear
See Ya
Peabody