Who hasn’t experienced vivid, realistic, twilight dawn dreams that transport them back many years to an indelible, possibly terrifying memory in the company of dear friends or hated rivals, the whole thing presented in living color and dynamic Dolby sound that seems as real as the distant day on which it happened.

Then, of course, there are those sudden, spontaneous, real-life occurrences that drop unexpectedly into your lap and immediately flash back to some distant, haunting memory … not at all unlike the surreal scenario that unfolded before Jack Shea’s worried eyes Sunday morning off Beldingville Roas in Ashfield, a reoccurrence more realistic than any nightmare.

An avid bowhunter and outdoorsman, the recently-retired 68-year-old Shea taught for 44 years at Eaglebrook School, covering subjects including art and outdoor adventure. A Shelburne Falls native and member of old Arms Academy’s final graduating Class of 1967, he also happens to be the proud grandson of late former world heavyweight boxing champion Jack Sharkey. These days Shea resides in the rural nirvana of a secluded Beldingville home he built of native timber 33 years ago. Looking south from this peaceful abode, Mount Owen dominates the landscape as a steep gumdrop mound of stone and mixed forest, mostly hardwoods, where deer and bear and — dare I? — big cats are known to lurk. Shea knows that mountain like the back of his hand.

Our story begins before 10 a.m. Sunday, when Shea was out on an early-season deer-scouting mission, walking up a familiar old logging trail along which he intended to install trail cameras to identify potential prey for the approaching fall whitetail-deer hunt. Accompanying him was his beloved 2-year-old black Labrador retriever bitch, Nye, named after Nye, Mont., one of Shea’s favorite elk-hunting haunts. The rambunctious pup was having a blast rollicking willy-nilly through the mixed hardwoods and hemlock, probing every new scent as all gundogs do, with head held high and alert.

Not far from a landmark site of daunting memories dating back some 31 years to a perilous black-bear encounter he had experienced with infant daughter Emily, now 33, in his arms, he recalled it as he usually does up there. Who wouldn’t? That day, taking a leisurely walk through the woods with his infant daughter, he had run into a large sow with cubs. The protective sow charged him, probably trying to buy enough time for her twin cubs to climb a tree to safety. The protective momma bear raced right up to a stunned Shea before turning and running back to where it had come from. By that time, one of the cubs had treed near the Shea’s. Jack pointed up and said, “See the bear?” to oblivious young Emily.

Well, this time around, on Sunday morning, preoccupied reading deer sign on an alternate, direct, pathless route back home, Shea had momentarily lost track of his rambling pet when his tranquil mood abruptly changed at the sound of an alarming yelp some 50 yards uphill. Shea immediately feared that the distressful sound had come from Nye, who may have either “wrenched her leg or run into a bear,” similar to he and daughter Emily that harrowing day many years ago.

Shea turned to scan the wooded uphill terrain and right away picked up the motion of a big black beast barreling full speed ahead down the hill on a direct collision course with him. Then, running ahead of the bear, also all out, he noticed dwarfed Nye, sprinting for her life and her master’s protection. The nervous dog, in full panic mode by the time she reached Shea, panting, circling her owner and trying to gain security by cowering between his feet when the bear raced right into their kitchen without a trace of palpable fear or any intention to stop. Unarmed and on full-alert, Shea knew he had a potential problem on his hands. Maybe even a crisis.

“I’ve been around grizzly bears in Alaska and was trained to stand tall, raise my arms over my head and make myself as large as possible when one charges,” said Shea, a big man in the 6-foot-3, 230-pound neighborhood. “As it got close, I uttered a load, throaty growl or scream, which stopped the bear on a dime less than 10 feet from me.”

He figured the bear estimated to weight in the 250- to 300-pound range was either a sow with unseen cubs in the area or maybe even a solo boar devouring blackberries on the other side of a dense thicket when the undetected pet got too close. Surprise is not a good thing in such confrontations, when a bear can feel threatened.

“It’s difficult to say what precipitated that charge,” reasoned MassWildlife Information and Education Chief Marion Larson, when told of it, “but bears will run toward humans in bluff charges responding to danger. They’re trying to scare the target and avoid conflict. Our bear biologists are quite familiar with bluff charges but I don’t know of anyone ever being attacked, even when cubs are nearby. The bear is just sending a message to leave the area.”

Well, whatever this bear’s intention was on this occasion, it got to within spitting distance of Shea before stopping, spinning around and sprinting back up the hill it had just descended. A relieved Shea watched the retreat until the bear got out of sight, let out a deep breath, conducted a cursory inspection of Nye for damage, found none, and turned to walk away toward home. Before long, still internally overwhelmed by what he had just witnessed, Shea spotted a stump and decided to sit down long enough to fire off a quick text spinning his neighborhood tale for wife Christie. In the process, he sensed something approaching, looked uphill and, yes indeed, that bear was ambling back down the hill toward him. The beast, perhaps unhappy that Shea hadn’t left the area, halted about 50 yards out at Shea’s yell and reversed course back uphill.

Feeling added urgency to immediately vacate the area and take his dog home with him, Shea realized that Nye was nowhere to be found and worried that maybe his dear pet was injured and lying down somewhere. Nonetheless, still spooked, he “beelined it home” only to discover that his traumatized dog had beaten him there. Still traumatized, Nye soon retired, tail between her legs, to her cushioned dog bed in Shea’s bedroom, where she remained for most of the night.

Next morning, before 8, Shea’s wife noticed their pet furiously licking at its chest and suggested to her husband that he inspect the area for injuries. A quick look revealed a deep, scabbed gouge across the upper chest near the jugular, necessitating a trip to Dr. Edward L. Funk’s Brookside Animal Hospital in Greenfield. The veterinarian shaved the dog’s chest, exposing the full extent of the bear’s scratches and closing the deepest two cuts with seven stitches above and one below.

“Nye is one lucky dog,” said a relieved Shea, snapping cell-phone photos in my driveway on his way home, “and I must say I’m one very happy dog owner,” … vet bill notwithstanding.

A few days later, with Nye still “lying low,” according to Shea, the man was still uncertain whether he’d ever again allow his pet to accompany him up Mount Owen. But somehow you get the idea that the animal learned a valuable lesson Sunday, and will likely forevermore be extremely cautious when bear scent enters her nostrils.

Chalk it up as experience.

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OK, so now what are we to make of this rare local encounter between man and dog and a random bear?

Should we be afraid to walk through the woods? Keep dogs leashed for all woodland rambles?

Hmmmm?

Well … it depends.

No doubt we should always be alert and wary when patrolling bear country. According to wildlife biologist John McDonald, the former MassWildlife Deer Project Leader who’s done a lot of bear research and been the target of more than one bluff charge, it’s always a good idea to make noise in the woods to telegraph your presence long before a bear sees you.

“From what I can gather, that Ashfield bear had no idea the man and dog were in the woods until the dog was right on top of it. That’s why it reacted as it did,” he said. “If the bear knew the man and his dog were there, he would have been long gone. They must have been quiet, the wind must have been wrong and the vegetation was probably thick, so the bear was caught by surprise.

“Had the man, not his dog, surprised the bear, most likely it would have run away. Bears don’t seek conflict with humans. Dogs are another story. Bear won’t hesitate to go after a dog.”

Like his former colleague, MassWildlife I&E guru Larson, McDonald said he knew of and has witnessed many bluff charges in Massachusetts and cannot recall any that resulted in physical attacks.

“They charge to send a message,” he said. “I’ve seen bears get to within six or eight feet and start opening and closing their mouth, clicking their teeth together to make a threatening sound, before running off. They want you scare you, convince you it’s time to leave their territory.”
Informed of that expert analysis, Shea didn’t challenge it but did have a little cautionary addendum.

“I may get bell for Nye to announce her presence up there,” he said. “Because in a situation like Sunday, my dog put me in potential danger, a problem dog owners should be aware of.”

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I have, myself, encountered many bears in my woodland travels and have never felt threatened or been the target of a bluff charge. Every bear I have personally encountered, with or without dogs, has fled.

Last year on a morning walk near home, I wrote in this space about jumping a bear from close quarters. Although I must have had made plenty of noise leading up to flushing that beast, the bear must have gambled that I would pass wide and it decided to lay low in the thicket to continue feeding on spring skunk cabbage. The beast guessed wrong and bailed out like a runaway locomotive when my dog got to within maybe 10 feet of it, both of us separated by a dense, impenetrable wild-rose-bush border. Still, even though we got close, that bear took off, making no attempt to challenge us. But it had to have been aware of my presence at least 100 or 200 yards before it fled.

Although I hate to leash my dogs and always allow them to run free on upland hardwood spines, that description is somewhat misleading because I can always have them under control with Tri-Tronics remote-controlled collars if they don’t respond to the shrill whistle dangling from a lanyard around my neck. If my dogs disappear out of sight for too long, I first try to whistle them back (which announces our presence to any animals within earshot), and if the dogs don’t promptly reappear, I can bring them back with the collars, which come equipped with audible and adjustable electric-shock enforcement. The collars are quarter-mile leashes, although I can’t say I ever allow them to get that far away before bringing them back into  sight. Plus, I often speak to my dogs during our walks, just silly talk that unintentionally marks my presence to wild beasts long before I get too close for comfort.

Among the golden rules of etiquette all woodsmen and women must be cognizant of when in the wild is the one that demands always to respect nature, be alert to potential danger, and try at all costs to avoid it.

Why invite trouble?