The sky was gray, swallows skimming the hayfield, flying low, their glee palpable — swooping, darting, looping, but mainly hugging the surface, devouring insects in midair. The lively activity had Chub-Chub all revved up, sprinting, bouncing, cutting left and right like a gifted NFL receiver adding to his yards-after-catch in the open field. What a beautiful sight to observe, the athletic 2-year-old Springer Spaniel doing what he’s bred to do: chase birds. Even the birds, barn swallows I think, seem to enjoy the little game, staying just out of reach, teasing and tantalizing Chubby like that mechanical rabbit out in front of the field at greyhound tracks, never a chance of getting caught.

Actually, swallows aren’t the only attraction in the bottomland hayfields I frequent. There are also sparrow-like field-nesters that sit tight and flush only when the dogs get right in their kitchen. I find it curious how Chubby watches but really hasn’t shown much interest in those birds. Lily, on the other hand, aggressively seeks them out daily, has for months, loves to follow her nose into tight flushes. Then the chase begins, an all-out sprint. Hey, she once even caught one a month or so back, it must have been defective in some way. Strong survive, weak perish: of yes, the golden rule of nature. Plus there’s always the scent of turkeys and Canada geese, especially on damp, gray, low-pressure mornings that keep scent clinging to the ground, even though the birds are long gone by the time we arrive, their lingering scent still worthy of investigation by tail-wiggling bird dogs.

I think “the kids” know bird season is near. They’re not alone. I too am anticipating it. But we’re not there yet. No, bear season opened Tuesday, and it just so happens that I’ve run into tidbits of information here and there. So, let’s start with a follow-up on that bear that deposited the scat pile I discovered and wrote about last week, then move on to an interesting little tale I bumped into during an impromptu chat with a farm hand who hunts and has trail-cameras in the woods on the east side of the Connecticut River. The young, sociable man had not only an interesting tale to tell but photos to boot, a wonderful development for a man like me, always searching. I’ve learned that you never know what you’re going to run into if you just keep dropping one foot in front of the other, observing, your mind traipsing off into dark, dusty, hidden chambers, the moods running the gamut from utter despair to titillating euphoria.

But back to that bear scat I discussed last week. It seems the neighbors have been aware of that bear’s presence awhile, have seen it coming in and out of the Greenfield Meadows cornfields between roads named Colrain, Plain and Meadow Lane. Although the black beast’s around, I can’t say I’ve seen any more sign of him since he left that humongous, sculpted calling card for me last week. My guess is that I haven’t seen the last of this creature, though — just a hunch.

As for the farm hand’s tale, well, he stopped his small green tractor when we by chance met in a short wooded lane between a vast hayfield and a secluded three-acre plot known for ages to the owners as Hideaway. He was on his way in to mow clover, timothy and other grasses that have grown about knee-high between rows of Christmas trees, I departing. We often chat in passing, usually about wildlife developments around Sunken Meadow. I most often find him down there in the lower level. Not this time. No sir. This meeting occurred up above, where I immediately noticed some sort of a rectangular, camouflage contraption that looked like a cell phone attached to his belt. I could see he wanted to talk and allowed him room to preface his tale uninterrupted, me just standing, listening and waiting for the story to bloom. When he got to the meat and potatoes about a mysterious woodland pest that had disrupted his trail-cam, he reached for the cell phone, removed it from his belt and started sliding through screens of photos from a trail-cam card.

First, though, a little background, beginning with his trip into the woods over Labor Day Weekend to tidy up a couple of deer stands not far west of the sandy, tick-infested plain made famous by tower-toppling Sam Lovejoy in 1974. One of his setups was a tall ladder stand, the other a portable tree stand he was upgrading. It was near the tree stand that he had installed the trail-cam that captured the shots he shared with me. The camera was chained waist-high around a medium-sized oak to discourage theft. When he scanned the area looking it from the tree his stand was fastened to, he couldn’t easily locate it and immediately suspected something wasn’t right. Then, when he finally pinpointed what he believed to be the right tree, he could not see the camera and went to investigate, suspecting mischief. As it turned out, he had the right tree, and upon closer inspection, the camera was still chained to it. The problem was that it had been pushed down to the base, the camera face-down on the ground. Hmmmmm? This really piqued his curiosity, knowing a small critter like a squirrel had zero chance of accomplishing such a defiant feat.

Hopefully, the camera would solve the mystery, and indeed it had captured the entire process in vivid color. The culprit was a large male bear or boar of bruin, which must have been camera-shy; either that or unfriendly to new territorial invaders. The scene made it clear that the beast wanted no part of the unusual unidentified object chained to a tree on its turf and thus proceeded to do all in its power to remove it, possibly because it or the area carried detectable human scent.

The photos showed several shots of the bruin so close to the lens that it was impossible to identify the dark, furry vandal. But finally appeared a clear shot of the beast peeking around a smaller oak tree facing the camera, then subsequent shots of it standing up on its hind legs to scratch its back on the rough red-oak trunk, a comical sight to behold. When the big fella had soothed its itch, it visited the camera, which showed a close-up of the animal’s ear, followed by a blurry paw, then a view of the stony earth and dirty darkness. The photo dates indicated that the big bear comes through the area every two or three weeks, which could change once the acorns mature and drop. The young man hopes to get a crack at that large, territorial beast but would prefer it to arrive well before dark. The problem is that such a kill will create a difficult chore of dragging its carcass from woods, a project always complicated by darkness.

Perhaps my buddy’s chances are slim because he’s dealing with a smart animal that’s grown large for good reason. Photos display a beast that is intelligent, cautious, and definitely knows his terrain better than any man ever will.

But, hey, there’s room for optimism, given what my buddy knows. Sometimes even wise old creatures make silly mistakes, especially when chasing women. That’s what my buddy will be hoping for — one of those right-place, right-time scenarios we have all experienced or at caught wind of.