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Chapter 8 Raising Miggy — Raising Me
She was an angry little whirligig of desperate energy begging for attention as she mauled and bit my legs and hands repeatedly. Miggy as she was later called was a nine month old, female American black bear cub who weighed too little and ran amuck too much. Completely out of control she ricocheted around the quarantine enclosure with the directional purpose of a pin ball. We had been preparing for her arrival at the Detroit Zoo (where I now worked) and right at this moment in time — hands bleeding, legs just moments away from developing a few impressive Technicolor bruises — I was seriously concerned about her behavioural rehabilitation.
Miggy was born in February or very early March in 2002 — since she was so small — to a mother living in the wilds of middle Michigan near Gladwin, about 180 kilometers north of Lansing. She was found in May by two residents as a tiny one and half kilogram cub with a muzzle full of porcupine quills; two of which were lodged in her tongue. The residents contacted the Michigan Department of Natural Resources who in turn brought her to a local veterinarian. The quills were removed but the little bear’s throat swelled to the point of constriction, a severe complication that almost killed her. The dogged veterinary staff was able to overcome this too and restored her health. Within a week she weighed two and a quarter kilograms. Now that the crisis was over the question remained, what to do with her?
According to media reports the Michigan Department of Natural Resources would have tried to find her a wild foster mother — which had previously been done successfully1 — but that was not an option for Miggy so she was given to a small zoo facility for temporary care until room at a larger facility — that could keep her into adulthood — could be found. In a perfect world Miggy should have been handed over to a bear rehabilitator either in Michigan or one of the surrounding states and then released back into the Gladwin area for winter denning or spring release. By the time we received her at the Detroit Zoo she was too habituated to humans and it was too late.
It was November and Miggy had spent seven months housed in a small barren, cement pit enclosure — on display to a noisy public — alone. The facility did not have enough staff to effectively spend the time with this sentient little critter that her developing brain so desperately needed. Not surprisingly, Miggy exhibited a full blown stereotypy. She motored anxiously back and forth pacing for most of the day if left to her own devices, which we did not intend to do.
For health reasons she first had to be quarantined for thirty days in the animal hospital holding area. Here we set up an enclosure for her that offered both indoor and outdoor options. It wasn’t optimum but it did give us an opportunity to assess her development thus far and identify her needs. The floor was cement — it was a hospital — so we built her a giant sandbox one meter deep and 1.5 by 1.5 meters wide, filled it with woodchips and placed it inside along with straw bales and a few logs for climbing. Outside we constructed an elevated canopied nest box which stood one and half meters off the ground, with a half meter lip so it could hold a fluffed up bale of straw. We had also created a jungle of activities including suspended tires and buckets and logs for climbing. To give her some privacy from staff that were coming and going we secured burlap to the fencing.
None of this mattered. Miggy was completely confused and anxiety ridden, paced relentlessly and I simply couldn’t get her attention. She needed an anchor, something to give her day — life — some structure. She needed a mother; a mother to touch her, to teach her; play and stay with her. Instead she got me, an adoptive mom of a different species who had limited knowledge of what it took to grow up to be a bear.
She was obviously weaned — which generally happens between five to eight months — and didn’t need a mother’s milk, but she did need the attachment — the socializing. I reasoned that a poor imitation of a bear mother might be better than no imitation of a bear mother. I sat down cross-legged on the floor with a dish of sliced apples and slowly rocked back and forth, quietly humming a single note. It worked instantly! She stopped pacing, ran over, plunked herself in my lap, and let me hand feed her apple bits. For the first time since she had arrived she was relaxed and uttering the soft guttural neighing of a contented cub.
For the next three days she took advantage of this motherish bonding opportunity that I offered her six or seven times throughout the day. One thing I have learned about bears beyond any doubt, they recognize what they need when they see it and take full advantage of it. Then she quick-bit me and rushed the bowl of apples. It was a coup. She had gotten what she needed from the lap sitting and had taken control of her own food. She flipped the bowl and ate the apple pieces off the ground and looked at me out of the corner of her eye as she munched — grinning. This action became her modus operandi. When she was done with something and it was time to move on, she quick-bit me to make me stop doing what I was doing. Then she would demonstrate the bear way of doing it. It was an effective behaviour modification of my actions. Annoyed, hurting and sometimes bleeding I stopped what I was doing, to watch her!
The stop doing that and watch me bite was different from all the other nipping, mouthing, and gnawing on me that she did. It was usually preempted by a one or two short whiny grunts, the baby-bear pointy upper lip of dissatisfaction and then a definitive, quick like lightening intentional bite forceful enough to be painful. Invariably I yelped in pain.
The problem wasn’t just that Miggy was motherless; she also didn’t have any siblings. Brother and sister cubs playing together and keeping company challenge each other constantly, forcing each to test and hone all that excellent bear survival information they were born with. If you already know the best moves to make to defend yourself against your crazed brother who keeps bouncing off your head, then you also have an arsenal of defense — or attack — strategies at your disposal when you are faced with a similar less friendly scenario by an unknown animal. So I wasn’t just a stand in mother, I was also a stand in sibling to be endlessly abused and wrestled with.
American black bear rehabilitators often report that orphaned cubs seem to mature faster than mothered cubs.2 Rehabilitated and released cubs have a wild survival rate analogous to mothered cubs in the wild.3 Miggy and I weren’t in the wild and the captive environment at the very least required some getting used to. Someone had to show her the ropes.
Miggy didn’t seem to be sleeping much and despite other bedding options, she crashed incidentally on the cement floor, exhausted. I tried to demonstrate all the possible uses of the elevated nest box by climbing into it and sitting with her. She had not gone there herself but happily bounced after me shredding the soles of my boots as we climbed. I did a little nest building — adjusting the straw — and then curled up and pretend slept. Instantly Miggy attacked my hair trying to rip the ponytail out of my head. OK, that didn’t work well! Next I tried to get us into the habit of napping in the woodchip box inside. Again Miggy followed me in, but wrestling in the woodchips was way more fun than napping. So that wasn’t working for sleep either. I had left a straw nest on the cement floor for her that she raced through at top speed — her only speed — going to and from someplace else.
It occurred to me that she might be young enough that she needed to be grounded by something to that behaviour. I bought an enormous almost meter long ridiculously cushy, faux fur teddy bear with felt eyes and an embroidered nose. I didn’t have high hopes for this but was desperate enough to try. When I presented it to Miggy, she lunged onto it, grabbing it by whatever and dragged it all over the cement floor — swabbing decks — in a dead heat; trampled over my feet, crashed into my legs like I was a tree, and finally flung it in my face, which is why I never wore my glasses when I was with her. In less than three minutes it was wet, filthy, and had only one and half eyes. OK then, that didn’t seem promising either. Since she was absorbed in what I assumed would soon escalate into plush toy dismemberment I went to have a coffee to mull over the initial problem — getting her to rest.
Twenty minutes later I returned and couldn’t find Miggy inside or out. Looking up I saw a faux fur foot sticking out of the elevated nest box straw and a small paw draped over it. Miggy was sleeping on top of her bear toy. I suspect the faux fur and possibly the shape of the toy where the attractants. I was quietly thrilled. Miggy dragged her stuffed bear around with her to all of her sleeping sites and she always seemed to know where it was at any given time. After a couple of weeks it was smelly and in need of some mending. After cleaning the enclosure — a task that Miggy always helped with by dissecting the broom, perforating the garden house, and racing through litter piles — I picked up the disgusting toy and brought it with me to the door. As I walked Miggy followed me and repeatedly bounced her front legs off my rear almost knocking me over at times. I thought she was play wrestling, since every moment is a good play wrestling moment! She persisted, repeated whiny grunts interspersed with more guttural growly noises all of which I misinterpreted and instructed her ‘Miggy, no more!’, my instruction for no more play, no more biting hard, no more grabbing the hose, whatever. She ran in front of me, blocking my exit to the door, grabbed at the faux fur bear with her teeth but I was determined to clean this thing so I held on. She hung onto my belt with one paw as she balanced on her hind legs, and gently bit into her other raised paw. Finally I understood — this hurts — so I gave her back the toy realizing I’d have to take it for cleaning at some point when she wasn’t looking.
