Let's say I'm a polar bear.

Note: I'm going to talk about some overly cute example and it's going to take some time. If you're in the mood for something a bit more interesting and well-written, try Ceresina. She mentions me! Oh, and I was right about her being wise.

I watched a polar bear show today. For those of you not lucky enough to work from home some days, air conditioner on, blinds closed against the searing sunlight, working on research and watching television, I’ll provide a summary.

A hunter killed a mommy polar bear and one of her cubs. The other cub (apparently they're born in pairs) survived and was rescued by law enforcement then sent to the Toronto zoo. Apparently the bears are quite vicious, so the cub couldn’t be introduced to their adult population. He was therefore kept alone, with only his caretakers for company, until he could be transferred to a more suitable location.

I love animals. Not even in the reasonable, scientific way. More in the Look at you! You cute little bundle of cuddles! sort of way. Polar bears – even as adults as they swim around in their pools – are adorable. So when presented with a baby, even on TV, I cooed and closed the laptop so I could give the little guy my full attention. He played in the snow, ate his food, took treats from a zoo employee through his fence. He made noise, splashed in his shallow pool and pounced on his favorite blue bucket. I loved him very much. As did those zoo folks.

It wasn’t easy. He was lonely, and while the people who cared for him were able to offer some company, it wasn’t wise for them to get overly attached. He stopped crying after only a couple of days upon arrival, but would wait at the gate in the morning for his people to arrive. So perhaps life wasn’t perfect, but it was certainly OK. He gained weight, got bigger – did what baby polar bears are to do, I guess.

At some point, it was decided that little (well, he was pretty big by then) Inukshuk would join 2 female bears at the St-Félicien's Wild Zoo. He entered his transport cage quite easily and two of his Toronto people went with him to his new home. He ran over to the Toronto employee when she called him, and I sobbed when she said good-bye. She commented while walking away - something about how this was best for him. How he’d be happy and forget all about her in his amazing new home.

After quarantine, where he met his new friends through a fence, they decided the bears were ready for their gorgeous new living area. The woman in charge said that Inukshuk would be the first one out – the females would be slower to explore when their cages were opened. Of course, the ladies emerged immediately, wandered around, played in the pool. Inukshuk took a long time, tentatively poking out his head before leaving his safe little enclosure for the open space full of snow and rocks. Always one to cheer for the slower or more scared creatures, I watched nervously.

As he wandered out, the girls came to see him. And they were mean. I called them nasty names through gritted teeth while I narrowed my eyes threateningly at the screen. Awful girl bears! He eventually started to growl and swipe at them with his bigger paws. The zoo employees watched from above the pen and reassured the viewers that he was bigger than the females and would be fine. He didn’t appear to know that he was a polar bear, but he’d learn. It would all be OK.

The last challenge, the TV informed me, would be this steep slope up to the pool. The ladies – true to their evil form – were splashing around, taunting poor, dear Inukshuk as he’d start to climb, then retreat, finally peeking over the top of the snow and watching his new roommates play. When he reached the edge of the water, they tried to guard it (little hussies!) but he eventually dove in.

And couldn’t swim. His little splashing pool in Toronto hadn’t taught him to use his legs, to relax and let his blubber float him along safely while he paddled his big white limbs. He flailed about with his arms though and eventually made his way back to the side of the pool. One of the zoo people said that he learned to hold on to the edge with one paw – just to be safe – until he figured out the swimming thing. So there was a sweet ending – the website informs me they’re all still around so I assume the three bears are getting along, playing and swimming, doing bear activities. Lovely.

I’ve been considering a situation that I probably shouldn’t discuss online. So I’ll see if I can talk around it and come up with something coherent.

I struggled in grad school. Got depressed. Experienced test anxiety for the first time in my life. Seriously considered leaving (more than once). But I made it. It was tough – I cried. But there were enough people who came to feed me treats through a fence. So I splashed in my little pool for a while, then had someone who said I should try something a little deeper. Then added colder water. Then threw in some irritable bears who didn’t immediately like me.

But it was all slow. My zookeepers got to know me and nudged more than pushed. I’m horrified by the idea of disappointing anyone, so the nudges were more than adequate. If someone told me I had to make my way across an icy pond, I was heading out there. If I sank, I knew I could call for help and be unceremoniously yanked out. I trusted my people. I still do.

I know of someone who has been struggling, and due to my own experiences, have offered encouragement and hope. She’s recruited a network of zookeepers, has been offered many chances at the same pool depth, has been encouraged then nudged then pushed. Nothing’s working. She just can’t seem to figure out how to paddle her legs. And instead of hanging on to the edge, floating around, getting scared by sinking a little bit then finding out that, oh, look, I can swim after all!, she scampers away from the pool. She finds some otters to talk with – and the otters are lovely, I’m sure – but they’re not polar bears. Then waits for the zookeepers to bring her food, shaking her head over returning to try at the pool.

At some point, if an animal is miserable in its new environment – can’t adjust, figure life out, make some attempt at an effective existence, a responsible zookeeper would, I think, remove that animal. The polar bear would have to go somewhere else if he can’t interact with the other bears very well, do normal bear activities, make appropriate progress. The kind action, I think, might be to take the bear by the paw and explain that he’s an excellent animal. But perhaps he’s not cut out to be a polar bear. Could just be temperament. Might be background – maybe he spent so long in his splashing pool that he just can’t make sense of deeper water. Perhaps, if given the choice, he’d make a better horse. Or giraffe. Or elephant. Something that didn’t have to swim in such deep, cold water.

I don’t know. It pains me to say – especially in this case, because I like the person in question a great deal and find her to be quite talented – but perhaps being a polar bear isn’t for everyone. Even those who initially thought it seemed like a lovely plan. It strikes me as quite unfortunate that there might be some shame - if only imagined - for her in saying that the cold depths just aren't for her. And sometimes, even as I paddle my way across the pool, I wonder if I want to continue to be a polar bear myself.