Bartholomew the bear was a bit of a klutz.

 

Bartholomew wasn't known for his grace. In fact, Bartholomew the bear was a bit of a klutz. He tripped over his own paws, his fur was perpetually matted with leaves and berries, and his fishing skills were, well, let's just say the fish laughed at him. Today, Bartholomew's clumsiness had landed him in a particularly crumple-worthy situation.

He was perched precariously in a rather spindly oak, his rump wedged in a particularly unfortunate crotch. Below, a sea of twenty bearhounds bayed and yipped, their wet noses twitching with anticipation. Bartholomew, never the picture of composure, whimpered. How had he gotten himself into this mess?

It all started with a particularly plump beehive. Bartholomew, ever the opportunist (and a terrible judge of distance), had attempted a spectacular leap, only to miscalculate spectacularly. He ended up tangled in the branches, a sticky mess of honey and despair. The commotion attracted the attention of the local pack of bearhounds, and now here he was, a crumple of brown fur in a very uncomfortable tree.

Bartholomew wasn't known for his fighting prowess either. He much preferred foraging for berries and napping in sunbeams. But cornered and scared, a strange calm washed over him. He peered down at the yipping hounds, then up at the swaying branches. An idea, as ridiculous as his usual attempts at fishing, popped into his head.

With a resigned sigh, Bartholomew began to… sing. It wasn't exactly a song, more of a warbly, off-key crooning. But the effect was immediate. The hounds, used to the fierce roars of bears, tilted their heads in confusion. The singing grew louder, becoming a bizarre mix of growls and whines. The hounds, thoroughly perplexed, began to back away.

A twig snapped under Bartholomew's considerable weight, and he yelped. The singing stopped. The hounds tensed, but then, a loud, booming voice cut through the air. "What in tarnation is all this racket?!" It was Jebediah, the gruff but kind old hunter who often left out bowls of berries for the less-gifted forest creatures (like Bartholomew).

The hounds, recognizing their master's voice, quieted down. Jebediah chuckled as he saw the sight before him. Bartholomew, covered in honey and leaves, sheepishly climbed down. Jebediah shooed away the confused hounds and helped Bartholomew out of the tree. As Bartholomew scurried off, a decidedly un-bearly voice called back, "Thanks, Jeb! And maybe next time, I'll just stick to the berries!"

Bartholomew may have been a crumple of a bear, but even the most awkward creatures can sometimes find a way out of a sticky situation, even if it involves a truly terrible song.