The bear who lived in Bear Mountain is dead, one of two
bears rescued at seven months of age and for three decades since became the
main attraction of the zoo there, though in latter days became less and less
interesting, choosing to sleet, or stroll the boundary of their confinement,
waiting for the attendant to bring them food, neither of which I can recall a
name, and so I have to mourn the loss of the first, knowing the second wont
last, after which management will seek a new pair, and I – having come here to
witness a love story in the wild – know it won’t be the same, sometimes feeling
as the male bear must, lost without her.
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