Y'all Come Sit a Spell

Pull up a chair. We need to discuss Smokey the Bear.

Apparently, a black bear recently wandered into Colorado Springs Fire Station 16, helped himself to a bag of firefighting gear, and left.

There is video.

The Colorado Springs Fire Department, showing precisely the kind of attitude we appreciate around here, suggested that the culprit may have been Smokey himself, apparently ready to take matters into his own paws.

The official version of events is fairly straightforward: Bear enters fire station. Bear takes gear bag. Bear leaves.

But I have questions.

First of all, we’re throwing the word stealing around pretty freely.

How do we know this bear intended to steal firefighting equipment?

Have we considered snacks?

To be perfectly clear, I have absolutely no evidence that there were snacks in that bag. I made that part up.

But stay with me.

Colorado Parks and Wildlife describes black bears at this time of year as basically a stomach with a nose. They’re in hyperphagia, the late-summer eating frenzy when they’re trying to pack on weight before winter.

So I’m supposed to believe that a bear, currently operating primarily as an ambulatory digestive system equipped with an extraordinary sense of smell, wandered into a fire station and thought:

You know what I need? A gear bag.

No.

I submit that somewhere in that bag was a cracker.

Maybe several crackers.

Perhaps a granola bar.

We cannot rule out Cheez-Its.

And if there was so much as a crumb of anything delicious in that bag, I believe we need to turn our attention to the firefighter who left it unattended.

Sir.

You work in Colorado.

You know there are bears.

You cannot wander around with a pocketful of delicious crackers and then act surprised when the local wildlife expresses an interest.

That isn’t theft.

That’s poor snack management.

Which brings us to Smokey.

For generations, we’ve been told that Smokey the Bear simply appeared as a responsible woodland authority figure in a ranger hat, deeply committed to preventing forest fires.

But what if we’ve been missing the origin story?

What if Smokey had roguish beginnings?

Robin Hood didn’t start with a pension plan.

Perhaps one young bear followed the scent of an irresponsibly stored snack into a fire station, accidentally absconded with some equipment and, upon examining his haul, realized he had found his calling.

“Well, shit. Guess I work here now.”

Next thing you know, he’s wearing a hat, educating the public and fronting one of the longest-running public-service campaigns in American history.

That’s not criminal behavior.

That’s a redemption arc.

And frankly, I’m troubled by how quickly everyone has been willing to condemn this bear without investigating the alleged cracker situation.

The defense therefore requests that all charges be dismissed pending a complete forensic inventory of the gear bag, including testing for cracker crumbs, granola residue and the unmistakable orange dust of a Cheez-It.

Until then, my client maintains his innocence.

The defense rests.

Editor’s note: There is no evidence whatsoever that the bear is actually Smokey, that the bag contained crackers, or that Smokey began his distinguished career in public service following a petty theft. We just think it makes a better story.