Of Kerries and Bears

By Charlotte Crosswhite

Yesterday afternoon about an hour before dark our shep/rott mix, Mandy, started raising holy cane. Her hackles were up and across the yard she went with Celt, our Kerry, right behind her. My husband, George thought she'd spotted a deer and got up to look (it's hunting season and Mandy doesn't allow deer near the house). We have a seven foot window that looks out over the Montana mountains. On the ridge next to us we saw a mama black bear with two cubs. We'd seen tracks all summer but this lady and babies were real close to the road, but outside our fenced area.

We called Mandy and Celt and they came. George hopped on the four wheeler a few minutes later and went to take a peek. He came back in five minutes and said they are heading back up towards the Forest Service land. Whew, I thought.

About an hour later, I let Celt and Mandy back out. Thinking it was probably safe.

Mandy wasn't out there five minutes when she took off like a shot again with Celt right behind her. George had taken off hunting. I hopped on the four wheeler and went down to the creek where the dogs were headed. I followed the road to the wood pile we keep by the creek. That bear tore down the fencing an was into the wood pile with Mandy and Celt darting at her. I called the dogs off twice and Mandy ran back up to the house. But Celt would not come into the house and kept going back down there.

Finally, Maverick, our Pyrenean Mountain dog that was in the pen for the night was raising holy heck and I cut him loose hoping it would be too much for mama bear. The whole time I'm leaning on the truck horn hoping that George would get the hint and come home. Fat chance!

Maverick was the final straw for the bear, and she took off running towards the forest with the cubs. Once she turned and took off and Maverick came back. Celt followed him home and Mandy into the house.

Maverick wasn't going to back down. Mandy was keeping her distance, but not Celt , the Kerry, he was darting in and out towards her.

Scared the spit out of me. George finally came home and complained: "Would you please not lean on the horn like that when I'm hunting, you tick off every hunter for a mile with that."

That big lug, George, weighs about 240 and is 6 foot, and I'm a little five foot plump thing. I took my fist and hit him square in the chest. Screaming the whole time about how I'm running down bears in my nightgown in 17 degree weather with my slippers on, and he doesn't have enough sense to know when I'm leaning on the horn I NEED HIM?

I'm telling you , that Celt is a daredevil. Thank god he wasn't hurt.

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