I’ve been visited by animal spirits, or so I’m told.

 

 

Animal encounters, though chance events, are commonplace in the Gatineau Park. The Park is large, and there are so many trails running its length that the animals living within its borders can’t help but cross them. If you visit often, you’re bound to run into a creature of some sort from time to time.

It started with a trip to that unpredictable world of nature. I was running my favorite trail; the foliage was thick; I was daydreaming. Mama bear was lumbering through the brush with two clubs close behind.

By the time I saw them, I was much too close. I skidded like Road Runner meeting Wile E. Coyote and fled, expecting to see an angry bear in pursuit every time I looked over my shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have run,” a friend enlightened me the following Sunday over a plate of Peruvian brunch. “I know about bears. If you run, they might chase you.”

Of course, he’s right. But how do you not run when there’s a bear family twenty feet away from you? I say if they haven’t seen you yet, go for it.

Farther up the trail, I stopped to catch my breath. To go back the way I’d come would take more time than I could afford. The bears were somewhere between where I stood and the road that followed the border of the Park – the shortest path home.

I ventured slowly, scanning the woods, until the bears were in view. They too were traveling toward the border road. Mama bear was loping along center trail without much concern. Her cubs were pattering from side to side, tracking scents nose-to-ground and dallying as children do.

I followed out of sight, creating the odd illusion that I was hunting the bears. We came to a clearing where they entered a meadow that led to a pond. My heart beat through my chest as I crossed the open field between us but the bears, pow-wowed at the water’s edge, were interested only in beaver and fish.

***

One week later, a baby squirrel darted across the entrance hall of my  apartment building as I stepped inside. He entered the lobby and scampered down the long hallway between the first floor condos, a tiny body with a big fluffy tail. His legs were so short he took forever to get to the other end.

I followed him to open the side door. When I arrived at the end of the hall, he took off for the lobby again. He scurried to the mezzanine and perched in front of the elevators, head cocked in curiosity toward the big steel doors. I quickened my pace – if he got on, I might never see him again.

The elevator doors opened and the baby ran inside. Next, the doors closed and I heard a muffled scream I wasn’t sure was human. The doors opened again and the squirrel shot like a rocket out of the elevator and across the lobby floor.

The poor little thing was terrified. He made his way in tiny, frightened hops to the double front doors of the main entrance. There he stood on his hind legs with his front paws on the glass, staring at the grass and trees and flowers on the other side of the pane.

I held open the first set of doors while a passerby held the second set. All the squirrel had to do was make a beeline to the parking lot. He scuttled under a bench instead.

A woman who’d just entered the scene circled the bench, jangling her keys at floor level. Fleeing the keys and avoiding the doors, the squirrel tried to climb the lobby’s faux-brick wall, and after repeatedly sliding down on his butt, zipped up the ramp to the mezzanine and down the hallway between the apartments again.

It was clear: Wherever we went, the squirrel wouldn’t go. We needed a strategy. While the key-jangler was chasing the squirrel, I fetched an armful of boxes from the trash room.

At the top of lobby ramp where the hallway met the mezzanine, I placed two large boxes side by side. The ramp was blocked. With a garbage can cover I propped open the door of the building where I had first met the squirrel. Opposite the barricade of boxes, the door from the lobby to the back hallway was open. In the narrow mezzanine between them I placed the third box and crouched down beside it to wait.

The squirrel was running back down the hall toward the lobby now, urged by a ruckus of keys. He saw me blocking his path and veered toward the ramp-side of the hall on my left. I crouched left with my arms outstretched on both sides, leaving an opening on my right. The squirrel veered back to centre, still coming, little legs pumping. As he got closer, he curved to my right and the only escape route he could see. Slowly I leaned right, still keeping left of the squirrel, and lowered my hand to the floor.

The squirrel swung wide to the right at the last second, headed for the opening. I leaned in to close the gap. He followed the line of my fingers pointing to the open door and ran through it to the back hallway, sunlight, and freedom.

***

I had only ten minutes to prepare for a kinesitherapy session at the spa but arrived right on time, hair-wet, face-bare, and heart-full as if I’d managed a miracle.

The spa owner was a naturopath familiar with remedies of the Native tradition. She had an affinity for the forest and its animals, which the Natives held sacred. Our conversation soon turned to nature, so I told her about the bear.

“The Natives thought about animals like spirit guides,” she said. “If you meet an animal, it brings you the power or spirit energy of the animal.”

“The bear is strong and brave, and the bear mother is the most dangerous animal in the woods. She is fierce because she protects what she loves. Meeting a bear will guide you to your full courage. If you find a rooting in your strengths and your destiny, you will be bold.”

Intrigued, I told her about the squirrel.

“A baby, that’s interesting. It’s rare to meet a baby. If you meet a baby, no matter what kind of baby it is, it means whatever you’re concerned about will turn out alright. A baby is helpless; it has to depend on others to survive. If you meet a baby, it means you don’t have to worry – the universe will provide.”

I appreciate the Natives’ respect for the spirit world, so I began to wonder: Are these expectations based on some kind of spiritual osmosis? Or simple observation?

Bears are ferocious and baby squirrels helpless it’s true, and who knows what magic their spirit energy might bring. But there’s another way this might work.

When you come face to face with a wild animal, you’re completely engaged. If only the fittest survive, every experience is a lesson in adaptation. Life hangs in the balance. Following a bear down a forest trail builds courage as much as guiding a lost baby home nurtures faith.

Animal encounters, however likely, are random events in the natural world of which we are a part. Like winning a lottery or falling down a manhole, they can change your life – no matter what you think they mean.