i would trade places with a black bear sitting in a stream right now right now

:(

"bears repeating" 🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻 <- thats the bears repeating

The Army of Poland employed a brown bear as part of an artillery team in the Second World War. His name was Wojtek (pronounced "voytek") and he worked in the 22nd Artillery Company.

In spring of 1942, after the Soviet invasion of Poland in 1939, thousands of Polish citizens and elements of the Polish military were deported from Soviet territory. They journeyed through Iran to British Palestine.

Along the way, they encountered an Iranian boy with an orphaned bear cub. According to the boy, the cub's mother had been killed by hunters. The teenage neice of a Polish general convinced an officer to buy the bear cub, which they nursed back to health and eventually made their mascot.

The bear was trained to perform a military salute, cuddle with soldiers on cold nights, and even march with them by standing on his back legs. He copied the soldiers in every way, even attempting to smoke cigarettes (he usually just ate them).

When the Polish army finally reunited with allied forces, they were assigned to join the invasion of Italy alongside the British 8th Army. However, the transport ships banned all pets and mascot animals.

The Poles refused to leave Wojtek, and got around the rule by drafting the bear into the army as a legally recognized soldier. He had his own personal records files, his own paycheck, his own dogtag ID number, and even held the rank of Private.

It wasn't symbolic, either. Private Wojtek actually participated in combat at the Battle of Monte Casino by carrying 100-pound crates full of artillery shells. It was a job that normal required four men, but Wojtek did it alone and perfectly, never dropping a single shell. His actions kept the artillery barrage well supplied until Allied forces finally seized the fortified mountaintop from Nazi paratroopers.

In recognition of his excellent performance, Private Wojtek was promoted to Corporal Wojtek and the 22nd Artillery Company made their flag the image of a bear lifting an artillery shell. They still use that flag today.

After the war, Corporal Wojtek retired to the Edinburgh Zoo in Scotland, where he was frequently visited by fellow Polish veterans, who game him cigarettes just like old times. He enjoyed a long and happy life, weighing over 1,000 pounds as any successful brown bear should. There are several memorials in his honor, both in Poland and Scotland.

I want to meet the legendary balls-to-the-wall WW2 Veteran who first said "Lēte Prívātə Bëªr McBèąrfæçe Cárřý Tħē Fûckínğ Éxpløsivės"

and hilariously that is not why it is called that.

It is the circle of the bears cause of ursa major and ursa minor, and the circle without bears cause ya'know opposite part of the sky.

We lucked right into that one....

#so what you’re saying is#the stars dictate whether bears do or do not exist in places

Extremely City white people are so fucking weird they see a pic of a deer and theyre like “its an Old God, tell me the wisdom of the trees Forest Lord … wow this is just like game of thrones” its a deer. Its a fucking stupid idiot animal it doesnt know shit

Yes deer are dumb panicky dinguses in real life, but sometimes a picture will capture one looking all majestic and we just… want to believe…

Case in point: this dude

Yes he got like that by being so hormonally addled that he tried to fight a tree. But try to tell me a forest god wouldn’t have big leafy antlers just like that if he were to take a physical form.

who says the old gods aren’t stupid animals who are so hormonally addled they’d try to fight a tree

@librariansheart for your enjoyment

Look, I’ve lived a good chunk of my childhood in a halfway abandoned mountain village in the middle of nowhere. Which meant wildlife galore whether you liked it or not.

And that meant sometimes we saw a deer in the middle of the road at midnight and the majestic motherfucker just stared us down until my mom shredded our tires to stop from hitting him. Once we stopped he did a little half-bow as if saying ‘You have not committed an act of godslayer this night. Your bloodline shall bear no curse of mine’, and walked away chill as you please.

The next day a neighbor told us a deer with fucking big antlers got tangled in his fence because it was trying to steal his grapes.

I went on a hike with another neighbor to collect yarrow for tea. A bear came out of the woods towards us, went on its hind legs and inquiringly roared. And he pushed me, tiny as I was back then, behind me out of sight and spread his jacket wide to make himself seem bigger than he already was. He let out a sound I had not known humans were capable of making. He and the bear looked at each other for a moment, and came to an understanding. The bear went down and walked away, respecting a powerful opponent protecting its young.

A week ago, there had been a bear that completely tore apart our trashcan and gorged itself on half-fermented apples we threw away. My cousin had to chase it away, drunk out of its tiny fucking mind, with an umbrella that made weird noises when opened. The bear ran for its life, crashed into our wall, fell on its ass, and scampered away.

I was playing on a swing once, all alone, and a fox came up to me, the most beautiful animal I had seen in my ten years of life. Thinking it wanted to pass, I stopped swinging and sat still not to spook it. But instead of passing, the fox circled the swing, found it wanting, and came to sit before me perfectly poised and looked me in the eye, and I could swear it wished to tell me something but I could not understand the language spoken before human time.

Then my mom came out of the nearby inn, shrieked at the fox and swung her purse to chase it away. The fox jumped, ran off and fell into a ditch, all notions of grace gone with the wind.

What I’m saying is: the old gods are absolutely idiot animals who embraced the life of constant sex and hedonism in return for losing their higher power. Whether or not they regret it, we’ll never know.

@thegreenchapel

Well the Old Gods are old. In the same way your grandparents are old. They’re a font of experience and wisdom, they’ve survived wars, famine, poverty–but they’re thwarted by a smartphone. The Great Stag understands “car” in the same way he understands “challenger.” He understands “fence” in the same way he understands “brambles” or “underbrush.” He can handle plant fiber in his way but metal might be a bit beyond him. The Old Gods understand their ways. The Great Stag can can give you the wisdom of being a stag, but humans aren’t stags, so not all of his wisdom applies to our experience. If you promise not to hunt in his forest for a year and a day, he’ll show the trails his herd uses so that you can get out of the woods faster. Maybe you’ll keep that memory, maybe you won’t. If you do remember, you are responsible for being a stewart.

Some believe the Old Gods are living gods. There’s no one single Mother Bear. It’s a title that gets passed on. The beings are inhabited by divine force much older and deeper than any human can imagine. Picture a pebble being thrown into a pond. Each new incarnation is like a new ripple expanding outward. If the Old Gods are living beings then they are limited and falliable. They make mistakes and are prone to embarrassment. Like we all are. Instead of merely venerating them, sympathize with them.

Behold, the rare sight of an Old God interacting with something new:

Now hearing “In the air tonight” played on a church organ, thanks.

My gf has now decided that any time we can't sleep at night it's because we are bearwatching

Well? Were you eaten by bears? Then she was right.

Lost in the sauce

I seem to be surround by 2 types of people - the paranoid and the sick. Making up some imaginary friends in the meantime. #lunchbagart #sick #handsanitizer #imaginaryfriend #monster https://www.instagram.com/p/B9WwiHLDVX4/?igshid=1442genmbqov5

“The prophecy did say ‘no man of woman born’… but you are not what I was expecting.” The old witch peered beadily over her spectacles. “I thought the hero would be a young lady, or someone delivered by C-section, or maybe the child of a transgender man. Not… whatever you’re supposed to be.” She gestured vaguely at Cam with a wizened and knobbly hand.

“I am an automaton, ma’am.”

The witch scoffed. “An Ottoman? The empire may be large, hero, but it is not that large. I’d know if there were metal men stomping around in some far-off corner of the world. Don’t lie to me, hero. I’ll smell it.”

Cam dipped its head. “I am a mechanical construction, assembled by a master craftsman. I can perform many actions like a living thing, if my springs are wound beforehand.”

“PAH!” The witch spat. “So humans send clocks to slay dragons now, is that right? Pathetic!”

“To be fair,” said Cam, “I am a very nice clock.”

The witch huffed, but her scowl cracked into a toothy grin. “Ahh, so you are. Polite, too, an’ that’s rare these days. Come in, hero, an’ I’ll see if I can’t find a boon to grant you.”

Cam stood up and dusted itself off. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I am on a quest and in a hurry. Could you tell me how to get out of this place? My compass was damaged by a troll, and I am very lost.”

“You chipped my fang!” The vampire‘s words were muffled as he held his hands over his mouth.

“I am very sorry, sir,” said Cam. “I would have warned you, but you jumped on me before I had the chance. Will you be alright?”

“No!” The vampire glowered. “I’ve been stalking you all night and now I’m starving! All I wanted was blood!”

“I haven’t got any of that,” Cam apologized. “I am only an automaton.”

“No blood?” The vampire’s shoulders slumped. “Well, what about oil…? Lubricant…? Any kind of vital fluid?”

“I’m afraid not. Can you actually drink lubricant?”

“I dunno. I’ve never tried,” said the vampire, shrugging. “Honestly, it all sounds good about now. I haven’t fed in weeks!”

Cam opened its chest to reveal the jungle of complex machinery inside. “I am made entirely of clockwork,” it said. “I am sorry to inconvenience you.”

The vampire squinted suspiciously at Cam’s clicking gears and took a step back. “Any of your bits made of silver?” There was a note of anxiety in his voice.

“I don’t think so.” Cam looked down at itself. “I’m mostly brass, as far as I can tell, with steel reinforcements…”

“Just checking. Sorry if that was an invasive question, it’s just, you know, I’ve got an allergy to silver and all… I’ve got to be careful.” The vampire looked away sheepishly.

“Oh!” Cam shut its chest and opened a compartment on its thigh. “I always carry an EpiPen! You never know when someone will need it.”

The vampire’s jaw dropped. The very tip of one of his fangs had broken off. “Those things are so expensive! I haven’t owned one since I was alive!”

“I don’t need it,” said Cam, and offered it to the vampire. “If your silver allergy is that dangerous, it should be yours. Go ahead - keep it.”

“Really?! But… I just tried to eat you…”

“Lots of people have.” The automaton shrugged. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

The vampire reached out a thin white hand and reverently accepted the cylinder of medicine. He looked at Cam with an odd expression. “Thank you…” His voice came out choked. “I… don’t know what to say… how can I repay you, automaton?”

“Payment is not necessary. I do not need to eat or drink or pay for room and board… but if it’s not too much trouble, could you show me how to get out of these woods?”

The vampire nodded gravely.

[Content warning: SWARMS!]

The little bee returned and buzzed around Cam’s head. “I am back!” she said brightly. “I brought some of my sisters to meet you!”

Cam held out its hand and the three worker bees alighted gently upon its palm. “Hello,” it said. “My name is Cam. I am pleased to meet you!”

“My sisters are quiet,” said Scout. “But they are the wisest and bravest in the clan.” She did an odd little dance on the swell of Cam’s thumb. “See, sisters?! I found it - all by myself! Isn’t it wonderful?”

“It is very strange,” said the largest bee, regarding it critically with her tiny compound eyes and twitching her antennae. “I have never seen a tree that moved so much.”

“I am not a tree,” said Cam. “I am an automaton; a very complicated kind of machine. Do you think can help me? I carried an old man across a river, but my legs have rusted and I cannot move them.” It pointed at its knees. “I am stuck here and cannot continue my quest until I am freed.”

The bees whispered to each other. Scout wiggled excitedly for a moment, speaking in a hushed voice, and then the largest bee spoke again. “We are only three little worker bees and can do little on our own,” she said. “But we serve a clan of fifteen thousand strong, and the strength of the hive cannot be measured!” Her tiny voice swelled with passion. “Our queen will know what to do - we will return and consult with her now.”

The three bees took off and sped away in the direction of their hive. Scout lingered for a moment, buzzing, and Cam waved at her gratefully. Then she zipped off in pursuit of her sisters.

Cam stood still, listening to the steady ticking of its gears. In the distance it could hear the faintest rumble of thunder, and hoped that the bees would hurry back and free it before it began to rain. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and the storm grew nearer and nearer. Just as the automaton began to lose hope, it heard a low humming from beyond the trees that grew louder and louder, until the leaves erupted with motion.

Thousands upon thousands of bees burst into the clearing. The air became thick with sound and motion as the insects churned it with their tiny wings, circling around and around in a dark, dense cloud. Some began to land on Cam.

“I brought my family!” said a tiny voice. Scout had to shout to be heard over the loud droning of the swarm. 

“Thank you!” said Cam, raising its arms slightly to avoid crushing the bees that were now clinging to its sides. “I am very grateful for your help!”

Scout landed on its nose and peered at it intently. “Our queen is very tired, and we have all traveled very far with no food. We must rest now before we get to work.”

“I understand,” said Cam. “I would not ask you to exhaust yourselves.”

Scout hopped from foot to foot to foot as more bees began to land. “Splendid!” she exclaimed. “We must find cover from the storm, or many of us may die. Will you let us shelter within you?” 

“Oh,” said Cam. “Okay.” It could already feel little fuzzy bodies squirming through the gaps of its knees.  

“We thank you, friend Cam!” 

The air began to still as all the bees settled to rest on the automaton’s body, forming a thick, humming blanket that covered it from head to toe. Some found gaps and crevices at its joints and squeezed inside, and others followed. Cam opened its mouth to ask how long they would need to rest, but bees clambered over its brass lips and upward into its face. To speak would be to crush them between moving gears. 

Soon, the entire hive had found its way inside. The soft clattering of millions of tiny feet upon the inner surface of Cam’s brass sheeting echoed in its head, drowning out the sound of its own ticking clockwork. Dark clouds rolled overhead and rain began to patter on the automaton’s body. Most of the water rolled off harmlessly, but some trickled in through the seam of its neck, where more vulnerable mechanics were located. Cam readjusted carefully.

“Please stop moving!” shrieked a tiny voice inside its head. “You’re hurting us!”

“I am sorry! I did not mean–”

“Don’t speak!” The little voice was desperate. “It hurts when you speak!”

Cam fell quiet and waited for morning.

When the sun rose, some of the bees began to stir. Workers clambered out of its torso and stretched their little legs, humming softly to themselves before rising into the air and flying off. Cam watched them go curiously.

“We are all very hungry,” explained Scout, stifling a yawn. “Most of us have not eaten in days, but there is a field nearby full of sweet yellow flowers. We must collect nectar and pollen for our queen and brothers to regain our strength.”

Cam nodded very slightly, eliciting buzzes of irritation inside its head. 

The next morning, it tried to ask again, but the queen was busy laying eggs and could not be disturbed from her most noble duty. 

On the fourth day, Cam had to interrupt the business of the hive. Its mainspring was unwinding and needed to be tightened by turning the key in the center of its back, just like any clock. If it unwound completely, the automaton would run out of kinetic energy and become senseless and immobile.  

“I’m sorry, friend Cam!” said Scout. “But my baby sisters have only just hatched, and they need to be tended to! They are soft and legless things, and cannot leave their cells. You will surely kill them if you move! Please do not hurt them!”

On the seventh day, Cam found itself unable to move. Its mainspring was very loose and it had to speak with great effort, for thick honeycombs had been built around delicate mechanics, paralyzing it from within. It could not move its arms to reach its winding key.

“You tricked me,” it said in a weak voice. “I thought that you were going to help me.”

 “I have helped my clan,” retorted Scout. “There can be no evil in that.”

“I am going to shut down,” said Cam. “And there is no one around to wake me up again.”

Scout sighed and rubbed her antennae with her front legs. “To die for the good of the hive is a great honor. You are a worker too, friend Cam! We both serve, and you can serve so many lives!”

Cam could not argue with that even if it wanted to, for its gears were gummed up with honeycomb. The slow, labored ticking of its clockwork could just be heard over the steady hum of the hive within.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick…

And then it was still, and Cam was aware of nothing more, until the great snuffling and slurping of a shaggy beast interrupted its oblivion. 

“Stupid. Fucking. Ugh! Bees!” The bear snorted in annoyance, and pawed again at Cam’s back. 

The automaton slipped in and out of consciousness several times as the bear roughly investigated its body. The animal cursed profusely under her breath and swatted bees off her nose, but persisted, nipping and scratching at Cam’s mechanisms in search of openings or weaknesses. 

A chunk of honeycomb was knocked loose by the bear’s abuse. “Help!” Cam cried, voice weak and rusty from disuse. “Please - help me!”

“You are the chattiest beehive I’ve ever met,” grumbled the bear, and raised its paw for a crushing blow.

“I am not a beehive. I am an automaton.” 

The bear paused. “What…?”  

“An automaton is a type of clockwork machine,” Cam began, but the bear grunted impatiently.

“I know what a damn automaton is,” she growled. “But what do you mean, you are not a beehive? I can smell honey inside of you.”

Cam could feel its mainspring loosening again and spoke quickly. “If you help me, I will show you how to get it out. I know many useful things and may be of great use to you! You must… wind my key… as tight as it will…”

The automaton came to again, lying flat on its face in the dirt. “…go. Oh. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” The bear snapped at the small brigade of bees that charged out of Cam’s mouth and dove towards her face, shrieking their fury. “Now - let’s see that honey!” A long, pink tongue shot out and lapped across the beast’s great maw in anticipation. 

“Well,” said Cam, ignoring the panicked screaming inside its head, “Right now, the honey is secured inside an intricate system of gears and rotating plates, some of which are very sharp, and might damage your most honorable tongue. If someone as gentle and powerful as yourself were to bring me out of the shade and into bright sunlight, the heat could melt the honey into a more convenient state, and you could feast without concern.”

The bear’s small eyes narrowed. “Hmm. Flattery will get you everywhere, little beehive - you are as clever as you say. Very well.” With that, she clamped her massive jaws around Cam’s ankle and pulled, dragging the little brass machine none-too-gently across the forest floor.

“Please!” cried ten thousand voices as one. “For the good of the hive, do not let this happen!”

“I am very sorry,” said Cam. “I do not wish to hurt you, but I must continue my quest. I serve my own queen, for whom I was crafted. I cannot allow you to keep me from my purpose.”

“But the clan! Think of the clan! There are children inside of you!”

“You must take your queen and find a new home - for the good of the hive.” Cam opened its mouth as wide as it would go. “Please… leave while you can! I would not see you harmed.”

The bees hummed and fussed and buzzed and danced in furious argument, stamping their feet and clicking their mandibles. Cam was so focused on listening to them that it did not register where it was until the bear dragged it to the edge of a rocky shelf and opened her mouth, dropping its leg with a loud clang.

“That looks very steep,” it said.

The bear snorted. “Damn right it is.”

“What are–” And then the automaton was rolling, bouncing, and crashing down the hill. Bees poured out of its mouth in a terrified cloud as chunks of honeycomb broke off and rattled around inside Cam’s brass casing. 

The automaton came to rest some distance away from the bottom of the hill and lay on its back, staring up at the hot sun and the clear blue sky. Experimentally, it raised an arm, and then it turned its head. Everything appeared to still be working.

The bear approached after some time and settled on her haunches, looking down at the clockwork machine. Without the bees to cool it, Cam’s metal body was scorching hot, and even the mass of honeycomb had melted. “How are you feeling, beehive?”

“Functional,” said Cam. “And… very, very sticky.”

Maybe he’s running from the truth

The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.

Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.

So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.

Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.

oh shit

Make every mythical monster a bear in your campaign

Video: Butterfly Photobombs Baby Koala’s Photoshoot

butterynutjob:

What.

IT’S WEARING A BOW TIE.

Of course he is. He’s the Minister for Overseas Development.

i hear exciting things are happening to sports

gaymilesedgeworth:

Small bears very tired, say thank