Why I Am (NOT) The Animal Whisperer.

Phone rings at 9:00 am.  Neighbor tells me,  “Make sure the 3-year-old is inside…there’s a huge bear headed your way!!” 

Safe from bear attacks, both kids are in school.

I yell to the Animal Whisperer,  “GET IN THE CAR!  WE’VE GOT TO SEE A BEAR!!!”  (This is the stuff of Animal Whisperer’s dreams.)  Animal Whisperer puts his deck rebuilding tools down, does not even detour to brush his teeth (which is his ritual anytime we leave the house) and gets in the car FAST. 

We peal out of the driveway.

Around the corner, we see it.  It is huge!  It’s right SMACK in front of us!  Biggest black bear I’ve ever seen in the wild!!!  (Note:  First black bear I’ve really seen in the wild.)

My window is open.  Animal Whisperer leans across me to take a picture.  He’s in heaven.  He’s in the zone. 

 He’s ready to snap a head on picture when I (very helpfully) realize that I, as the driver, with the open window and the bear on my side of the car, can get a much better angle.  I grab for the camera.  I bump the camera.  Animal Whisperer doesn’t get the shot.  Bear turns around.  Runs.  Animal Whisperer begins spewing derogatory remarks at me in Spanish.  He snaps a last ditch shot.  The only shot.  The top right corner of his BUTT.

I drive.  I think: I’ll catch him! 

I learn wildlife doesn’t always have to use the road.  Animal Whisperer is telling me to STOP.  I think I know more than Animal Whisperer.  I keep driving.  Bear makes a sharp left through a bunch of bushes and out of sight.  I keep driving. Bear gone.  Barrage of Spanish adjectives  (to put it lightly) to describe my lack of tracking abilities continues.  I’m sure we’ll see bear if I drive a little further. 


Animal Whisperer briefly stops his torrent of non-compliments and says, as calmly as possible:  “Next….time…..you…..see…..a…..bear…..DO…………NOT………KEEP……..DRIVING.”

(Oh.  Now I got it.  Apparently it scares them away???)

I take a deep inhale (yoga comes in handy at times like this) and I say, rather meekly, understanding my role in our mortal-woman-married-to-the-Animal-Whisperer relationship:


Spanish expletives stop about 15 minutes later. 

– The Goat Cheese Lady

P.S.  Did I mention Animal Whisperer’s first language is Spanish?  He speaks beautiful English, but somehow feels drawn to Spanish when appalled by his wife’s lack of a sixth sense.

About The Goat Cheese Lady

I am Lindsey. At first I was a city girl. Then I was an urban farmgirl, attempting to balance city and farm life. Now, after moving to the country, I have embarked on life as a rural farmgirl, complete with my husband, the Animal Whisperer, man of exceptional knowledge and patience, two boys who are louder than my sister and I ever were, a herd of milking goats, and a flock of egg-laying chickens. Coyotes, mice, country dogs and prairie dogs are frequent visitors. Just 45 minutes north is Colorado Springs, the setting for our first six years in the goat world. Our family. Our city friends. Our introduction to cheesemaking. But we...and our growing farm and soon-to-be creamery...have set up shop down off of Highway 115 in Penrose, Colorado.
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