The Minds and Manners of Wild Animals: A Book of Personal Observations

We had an Alaskan cinnamon bear, three years old, that had been christened "Christian," at Skagway, because it stood so much pestering without flying into rages, as the grizzly did. After a short time with us, the concrete floors of our bear dens reacted upon the soles of its feet so strangely and so seriously that we were forced to transfer the animal to a temporary cage that had a wooden floor. While I was wondering what to do with that bear, along came Mr. Glass, anxious and unhappy. "My wrestling bear has died on me," he said, "and I've got to get another. You have got one that I would like to buy from you. It's the one you call Christian." Very kindly I said, "That is a mighty fine bear, as to temper; but now he is entirely too old to train, and you couldn't do anything with him. He would be a loss to you." "I've looked him over, and I like his looks. I think I can train him all right. You let me have him, and I'll make a fine performer of him." "I know that you never can do it; but you may try him, and send him back when you fail." Thus ended the first lesson; and I was sure that in a month Mr. Glass would beg me to take back the untrainable animal. About one year later Glass appeared again, jubilant. At once he broke forth into eulogies of Christian; but one chapter would not be large enough to contain them. He had trained that bear, with outrageous ease and celerity, and hadimmediately taken him upon the stage as a professional jiu-jitsu wrestler. And really, the act was admirable. As a wrestler, the bear seemed almost as intelligent as the man. He knew the "left-hand half-nelson" as well as Glass, and he knew the following words, perfectly: "Right, left, half-nelson, strangle, head up, nose under arm, and hammer-lock."