Does a Bear Shit in the Woods?

First it was the feral kitties. Then it was the moths, followed closely by the raccoons. In a not too-distant third was the skunk that paraded odiferously across the porch at 5 a.m. two days ago, inciting feral kitties to riot and me to near heart attack.

The latest of God's creatures to tour the grounds around my little cabin? Bears. Uh-huh. That's right. Bears. Well, a bear. Just one. But.... you know, a bear!

It was small, and relatively harmless looking. What's more, it wasn't interested in me in the slightest. It went about its morning foraging business, and then went on its way. Most likely to never think about me again.

I, on the other hand, now see bears everywhere. Not real ones; there was, after all, just one of those. But there are bear themes and bear motifs everywhere I look. On billboards and dish towels; as decorative door pieces and pottery embellishments. And I'm not sure how I missed this, except to say that when nature calls, you're not too terribly concerned about the surroundings -- but there are even prints and etchings of bears in the bathroom here.

So. There's that.

Which means I can't speak to the factuality of the age-old philosophical question -- does a bear shit in the woods? But the bears can now answer the question about me.

So how about that?