Cubs appear to depend upon mother’s milk until they are about six months of age. Before this time they may eat a little solid food now and then, but this is done more out of curiosity and in imitation of mother than from desire. It is likely to be July before they do even this and late August before they eat solid things with any regularity. They are not likely to be weaned until just before denning-up time. The Indians in Alaska told me that sometimes the cubs are not weaned until the second autumn of their lives. This certainly is sometimes true, but I think it peculiar to Alaska.
Comical and cunning the cubs appear as they mimic the mother. When she stands up with fore paws against her breast, looking intently into the distance, the cubs stand up with their paws upon their breasts and look in the same direction. When mother turns or sniffs, these cunning little imitators also turn and sniff. The cubs walk up to a spot where the mother has been sniffing and digging and there sniff and dig. If mother continues digging rather long, they find a place of their own and dig. If mother reaches up and pulls down a fruit-laden limb and takes a bite, they too must pull down a twig of some kind and at least look at it.
Around the shores of Chickadee Pond a mother grizzly and her two cubs spent a July day digging out grass roots, willow roots, and probably also grubs. I watched them for hours. Occasionally one took a mouthful of grass or a bite of blue mertensia. After a while mother waded into the pond; cubs of course followed.
The large yellow pond-lilies were in bloom, and mother went about biting off stalk after stalk, apparently forgetting the cubs. One of them grabbed a lily stem and bit two or three times without cutting it. Finally, leaning back, he pulled it apart. He chewed it a little but didn’t seem to enjoy it. Then, holding the lily in one paw, he thrust the great golden bulb into his mouth and ate it with apparent satisfaction. The other little cub after much tugging finally uprooted a lily. He chewed at the four-foot stalk in three or four places. Then, taking the bulb in both fore paws, he ate it as though it were an apple.
It is ever a joy to watch a grizzly and her children. A mother grizzly crossing a lake just south of Long’s Peak swam low in the water with a cub sitting contentedly on her back. She came directly towards the shore where I was standing concealed behind trees. As she approached I threw a stone into the water close to her. Wheeling about like lightning, Mother Grizzly started at full speed for the farther shore. The cub tipped over in the water, but hastily took a tail-hold and was towed rapidly away.
I once saw a grizzly and cub walking leisurely along the top of a ridge above timber-line, the cub with long strides following in mother’s footprints. There were perhaps six or more inches of snow. I sat still. They were coming almost towards me. Watching carefully with my glass, I noticed that the cub was limping. He suddenly sat down and bawled. The mother, after walking on several steps, turned to look at the cub, who was holding his hind foot between his fore paws and examining his hurt. I heard him whimper two or three times, and finally mother went back. She looked down at the bottom of the foot rather indifferently, then turned and walked on. The cub followed after.
When they passed near me the mother rose suddenly on hind legs, stood with fore paws held against her chest, and looked and looked, and sniffed and sniffed. Little cub, forgetting his sore hind foot, stood up with little paws against his breast, stretched his neck, looked, and sniffed—a perfect little imitation of the mother. She moved off several steps and stopped on the very edge of a precipitous ridge to scout. The cub placed his fore paws against mother’s side and from this secure position peeped over and beyond her. But they did not detect me and soon went leisurely on.
Two miles farther I crept as close as I could and paused to watch. The mother was digging, the cub watching eagerly. As her digging continued for some time, he moved away, sniffed two or three times, and then began digging rapidly on his own account. While both were digging, there was a whir of wings and a sweep of shadows, and a flock of white ptarmigan alighted among broken ledges near by. While I was watching them, a flock of mountain sheep came along the out-thrusting ridge and paused to play for a few moments on the sky-line. In pairs they faced, then reared up and sparred with their horns; they cut lively circles around one another. A rugged, snowy peak loomed grim behind the scene, and the dense forest spread away for miles below. The bears, the ptarmigan, and the sheep, the white peak, the purple forest, and the blue sky gave me a striking experience and left a splendid picture. As I turned to go, the cub was giving all his attention to the play of the sheep.
The almost continual play of the cubs is a never-ending source of interest. They race, they wrestle, they box, and they play hide and seek with utmost enthusiasm. They climb upon mother’s back, they swat and pummel her and maul her. She will endure this by the hour with absolute indifference. Mother sometimes plays with the cubs but more often lets them play with her, or, unconcerned, simply watches them in their scrambles.
Playing cubs are strikingly boylike in their ways. They tumble and roll about with lively energy. Their boxing is a ludicrously earnest show. Standing up they clinch, struggle, break away and watch for a new advantage. They strike first with one paw, then with the other, then with both at once. They come close, dodge, and jump back; they hold one paw high and the other low; sometimes they guard the face with one arm while striking with the other. Often they strike wildly, evidently intending to miss; they bristle up, growl, and have great fun, pretending to be more in earnest and terrible than they really are.