If Animals Could Talk Blog #7



I am an animal, I am part of the wild, you cannot keep me in captivity.

The morning sun gazed in on my den, a good 20 feet inside my shelter. The wall surfaces acted as a point of reflection, the rays jumping from one side to the next until it reached of all people…me. Was it morning already? It had been weeks since I stepped foot into this cave, and even now I was too lazy to arise from my hibernating sleep. I sneezed, and in doing so, kicked up a wad of dirt particles. The dust blanketed over my furry head, which caused an even more allergic reaction. My legs were sore from being burrowed up in this position for so long of a time. Not only did my legs hurt, but my shoulder was also still healing from a fall. Hibernation had come at the right time this year, making it possible for me to develop back to normal. I moved my legs back and forth, transferring my weight to my belly. It was that time again-back to the old grind. I leveled my weight onto all fours and slowly forced myself up from the ground. Roots and branches snapped as I arose due to the mass my body took up. I had to be quiet, because Indians were a big predator for us bears. I had to be successful this year, not only for myself, but for my cubs that I soon would be caring for. Indians were especially attracted to females these days who had much more muscle tone, therefore more meat. If not for food, I would be held captive, and looked at as a prize. My eyes skimmed the outskirts of the cave. Not a sign of life could be seen or heard insight. Only the sound of the Susquehanna River which enveloped around my territory. My stomach grumbled…it knew what that meant. Fish! I proceeded with caution out from my hole, making sure to duck from the roots that would grope my figure above. The texture of the soil felt so good on the palms of my feet. I sunk down about an inch with every step. It was a tiring process, but one my legs would need to recover from. I lifted my head, and looked directly for my location so I would not lose focus or time. I reached the Susquehanna when the Sun was highest in the sky, and decided it was time to eat. It would have been a better choice to go about my business at night, so there would be no risk of danger. But I had a strong desire for food and I couldn’t help the time I arose from my sleep. I prowled in the grass for a period of time, while my peripherals saw the ends of each cat tail. It was time. The weight of my body shifted downward as I headed to the river below. The water was moving at a pretty steady pace today; this was a good sign for fish. I blocked the flow of water on one side of the river, and waited patiently for some chow. Small minnows could be seen continuously running in and out of my pool. My patience was being tested, but soon a good-sized salmon swam into my make-shift trap. I cropped the head off, and began eating the fish in peace. My ears could hear my own chomping sounds because I was so loud! I hadn’t eaten a tasty meal in so long… But they could also hear something else.

I directed my attention away from the fish for a quick second and scanned the premise. Bushes could also be heard rumbling. Cattails lost their fur. Branches bent. Footsteps were in the distance. A whole group could have been watching me. Not this time, not me. I dropped my fish, and galloped away as fast as I could. The Indian’s calls echoed behind me. They might have brought guns they acquired from the Americans. I wouldn’t take a second to look, there was no time. Even better-my long fur created a barrier along the side of my eyes like a horse,  so I could only focus on what was ahead of me. “shwoom.” Arrows brushed the top of my fur as they flew past me. My adrenaline upped, and so did my reaction time. I shifted my body one way to the next, hoping to avoid each shot. But by doing this, pressure also increased in my shoulder. My legs had broken free from their state of rest, but my shoulder was still in a state of pain. Why were they still following me, why couldn’t they move to another victim? Their yells vibrated louder on the backs of my ears…Growls almost. Growls?

I not only was running with Indians, but wolves were also chasing the Indians themselves. A wolf knew better than to mess with a bear, but not humans. Wolves would go to any extent. The Indian’s screams were of pain, and soon grew softer. The wolves’ growls masked their voices. Soon all the tribes voices were hushed. I had lived, and most importantly I had succeeded. Whether we were together or not, we animals fought as one.

I am an animal, I am part of the wild, you cannot keep me in captivity.

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1 Comment

  1. Nice….interesting Thanksgiving story!
    You are taking care of the “narrative” genre when I never get to it….
    Narrative post; constructs new meaning; well organized
    written in an interesting style and voice; words used are carefully chosen, memorable, and bring the content to life;
    sentence fluency is smooth and naturally expressive
    few errors; formatting makes the post difficult to read (paragraphs,please)
    multimedia adds perspective to post; post is fully categorized and tagged


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