I think she's still feeding them.
It's 12:45, just about the hottest part of the day. Look who just came for lunch under our cherry tree wearing his best fur coat:
I swear, he's not guarding our grow-op. We don't have one. However, I'm pretty sure he's guarding somebody's grow op because I have it on good authority that that particular woman has been into the local grocery store for the big sacks of dog food on several occasions this summer. (Google 'bears guarding grow-op for the full story. While you're at it, cruise Youtube for the Russian Newscaster who couldn't stop laughing when she tried to report on this story. It's good for a giggle.)
Meanwhile, Mr. Bear's visit to our neighborhood is tragic, it really is. I didn't have the heart to call the conservation officer, but someone else will--if they don't shoot it themselves. This guy ambled away when the kids and I went on the deck to take his photo and my son called out a few sarcastic remarks. Not everyone is so tolerant though.
I'm so tolerant that after I saw him out there yesterday morning, I warned the kids that if they went to the beach while I was at work they should, "Walk on the road, don't go through the woods." Cause pavement stops bears every time. It's like a forcefield. Yeah, I'm still going for that Mother of the Year award.
Meanwhile, our backyard isn't exactly Paddington Station, and this is as close as I'll get to pinning a "Please Look After This Bear" note on him, but he's free to a good home if you'd like to save him from a terrible fate and come get him.