Three Black Spots

The bears didn’t come out to play

Distance is not measured by miles, or time. New York is closer to London or Tokyo than it is to a small town called Cornwall on Hudson- a ninety minute bus ride from the Port Authority. We had been there to visit Ayesha’s pen pal in the early 80s.

The family had heard that all Indians were vegetarians, so they had made us a wonderful fish meal that we wolfed down. They had lost a nephew in the Vietnam War, Maya Lin’s memorial had just been installed, and they were unsure if they could muster up the logistics or emotions to visit D.C. Vietnam, the Domino theory, and McNamara’s genius were concepts that did not compute.

We had a similar sense of time travel, driving up to Honesdale, three and half hours from Manhattan, and home to Highlights Magazine. We sell the magazine in India, and this was our first visit to their Editorial offices. We stayed at the founders’ home that has been maintained as it was when they lived there, over fifty years ago.

Yoda was in his element. We walked him mercilessly outside the home, till we were sure that his bladder did not have a drop left. We did not want him marking territory inside. He enjoyed being off the leash, and had his first frolic in rural America.

The house is incredibly comfortable, and we walked through the rooms with respect and care. We papered the floors with Yoda’s mats, and had a long chat with him. He got it. This was a piece of American publishing history, and dog-like behavior was not allowed. No scratching, no scrabbling, it was time to be regal and dignified.

We read the visitor’s book with great excitement. Who else had stayed there, before us? What was their take? We were perhaps the first non-creative types, mere commercial sellers of books, and Yoda was definitely the first dog who had stayed there. Everyone else was a writer, illustrator, or some kind of publishing eminence.

They wrote in beautiful script and splendid prose. Most of them mentioned the deer that they had seen, and some of them referred to the bears that came up to the front porch. We immediately set up an animal watch. We have a very special relationship with bears, from reading too much John Irving. On our first visit to Vienna, we earnestly asked the taxi driver on the way in from the airport where we could see the bears, and he treated us to a lecture about what a modern and bear-free city Vienna was.

That evening over dinner, our hosts Kent and Jody agreed that yes there were bears in the neighborhood, and no, they did not rate highly our chances of seeing them. Not on this trip anyway.

Yoda had taken to darting out the front door every chance he got. We did not want to curb his natural enthusiasm, and yet, what if a bear lurked outside? Are bears vegetarian? They do attack people when provoked, but do they eat them? Would they eat a dog, or would they invite him out to play with them? It was late at night, there was no encyclopedia or internet available, and we did not think Kent would be amused being woken up with a query about the dietary habits of bears.

We sat at the dining table, looked out of the French windows on to the slope that led down to the trees. We saw a bear in every shadow, and our wine fuelled imagination allowed us to get a sense of the height, coloration, and even claw length. We felt like the Scots villagers who have had a wee dram too many and come back with tales of the Loch Ness monster. The next morning, we woke up bright and fresh. The house was bear free, and so were the slopes, trees and roads that we drove on. I wanted to ‘beat the grounds’ and go looking for signs of bear – poop, claw marks, crushed grass, but it was time to go off to our meetings.

On our way back to New York, we stopped at an army surplus store and decided to check out what was on sale. Afghanistan was about to be invaded, the Taliban was due to be routed, and we were in a slightly martial frame of mind. We bought the full range of camouflage T shirts - sand, snow, and forest. We could find nothing remotely relevant to Yoda. I guess Marines don’t wear leashes, or bows in their hair.

We barreled into Manhattan, ready to get into the groove. Bears would have to wait, the smell of fresh grass was now a distant memory, we were set to battle the bridge traffic, and embark on the greatest hunt known to mankind – street side parking on the Upper West Side.