Nurse Sherry Bear

Nurse Sherry Bear was a weathered old thing. She had a big floppy bear gut and claws stained yellow from years of tobacco use. Still, with a twinkle in her bloodshot eyes and winningly gnarled teeth, you could tell she had once been a P.Y.S. – pretty young sow. She knelt silently over old Birch Bear to stabilize his wounds.

“How’s the old dipstick, eh?”

With pursed lips she continued working, ignoring his tasteless overture.

“Think I’m about due for another oil change yet?”

Flustered, she turned to me and said, “I really have no idea what he’s talking about. He must be delirious.”

“What’s this now? What happened to all the fireworks! Hubba-hubba!”

She continued diligently as the possums wandered over to the fridge and started rummaging.

“My flower, what’s the matter? Bzzzzz! Bzzzz! I’m a bee! I’m a bee!”

I was appalled. What kind of vulgar brute was this bear, and how could such a sensitive gentleman as myself be related to him? As I considered this, the dentally endowed little card sharks removed a rotten head of lettuce, triggering an avalanche of miniature ketchup packets from the depths of the icebox. They scurried to shovel them into the wastebasket and return to their scavenging but the old bear’s head shot up.

“All my evidence! I need those for my lawsuit against the Education Department!” He had snapped one of his neck splints and his head hit the floor with a thud.

Sherry stood and said, “He has no business living alone. Get him into an assisted-bear facility before he really hurts himself.”