The Flying Poodle and the Bear

Her AKC registration name was “Kenya Queen Reba Amelia E.” She’s the only giant mutant mountain poodle… er, Imperial-size standard that we ever actually bought. Got her as a black hairball puppy from a couple whose actual business was to breed English Bulldogs in Savannah. The mama was their house pet, an impressive black. Paid $550 for her, had our pick of a litter of 6.

We’d answered an ad for the puppies, checked first to see if there were any close relatives or cousins in her bloodline and Uncle Bob’s. We wanted them to be a pair, and they were quite the pair. Though they never managed to have any pups of their own.

The naming of Kenya was quite the ordeal in a family with strong opinions and favorites. My husband wanted to name her “Queenie,” but only because his parents never let him name one of their dogs Queenie, and he thought it was a great dog name. I thought it was right up there with “Rover” or “Fido” - awful.

Our daughter pushed for “Reba” because she was in a big Reba McIntire phase at the time, and was going to college with Reba’s niece. I thought that name would look better on a redhead, but what do I know? Our son wanted to name her “Kenya,” and that name fit her particularly well. She earned “Amelia E.” on her own, after taking to the habit of flying leaps off the second story roof whenever the deck gate was shut and someone she wanted to meet showed up downstairs.

She had these great long legs, and a natural spring-action landing pattern. Never got hurt, amazed everybody, and by the time she was grown could use that spring action to make spectacular leaps straight up the mountain side or bound terraces after deer just for fun. Kenya Queen Reba Amelia E., The Flying Poodle.

We just called her Kenya. After our son died in an accident we, Bob, Kenya, our daughter and then 2-year old grandson moved to a cabin and acreage in Western North Carolina to start over. The Pup (our son) had been our business partner and a genuine local celebrity in Florida. The newspaper devoted three pages to his memorial service, television crews covered it live, and we got literally thousands of cards and letters from his many young fans. Suddenly no one wanted our clowns at their events anymore. Too sad, I guess.

Starting over was all we could think of. The cabin is a hundred years old, originally built as a sawmill camp cabin. The Southern Railroad used it as a hunting lodge for executives. When it fell into private hands the roof was raised, a loft was built, and a full bathroom was added in the half-cellar. The chestnut logs and siding came from this property, long before the blight wiped them out.

Our young grandson didn’t like the cabin very much, though he did love the land. For the first whole year we lived here he refused to sleep indoors. So we pitched one of those little dome tents on the second story back deck (fully railed, 10 x 12) accessed straight through the sliding glass door. He slept out there with Kenya every night and it didn’t hurt him. No wildlife (other than Kenya and the cats) could reach him, so it worked out well and he did get over it after that year. Learned to sleep indoors fine.

During that first year a good sized black bear with a yearling and a small cub had spent the winter in an old collapsed barn down in the bottomland. First thing in the spring Mama moved on with her small cub in tow, left the male yearling here to fend for himself. And from the size of him he was fending okay. Yet what he really, really wanted to fend most for himself was Kenya. That bear was definitely smitten, thought she was absolutely T-H-E most gorgeous black bear he’d ever hoped to lay eyes on!

He’d seen Kenya get all defensive and listened to her bark ceaselessly at him whenever he came close enough for her to smell him. Boy bears smell pretty bad, though I guess she-bears think it’s sexy. Kenya did not. By the time spring was definitely upon us, that bear was stepping up his courtship considerably.

My husband and I slept in the loft, with windows directly above the porch with our grandson’s little tent. We had gotten quite used to Kenya’s barking at the bear, who showed up below the balcony every morning just at sunrise to sing her praises. He’d taught himself to bark, no doubt thinking that would make her love him, and his bark was not as easy to ignore.

Grandson could sleep through Kenya’s barking too, but liked that bear bark as little as we did. One morning after the two had barked and barked and barked at each other, we heard our sleepy, now 3-year old grandson yell out crossly, “SHUT UP, BEAR!!!”

He figured out for himself that if he’d just move inside to the bedroom, Kenya would still sleep with him but he wouldn’t have to be rudely awakened by a barking bear every morning of his life. So I guess we have the bear to thank for civilizing the kid somewhat.

The bear moved on once the object of his affections moved indoors, though we’d occasionally hear his mournful barking from up on heartbreak ridge at night. And Kenya always dutifully barked right back at him. We like to think he found a lover from his own species and helped to keep the local black bear population going.

We’ve seen a very big male a few times on the back road, probably 700+ pounds. Just the size our bear would be if he’s lived this long. Not the same bear who comes through in the spring to raid the trash bin, in the summer to hit the berry patch, and in the fall to languish under the pear trees to feast on droppings.

But every time I see a bear (male, female, cub or yearling) I think of Kenya Queen Reba Amelia E., the flying poodle. And one seriously lovesick bear who thought she was the most beautiful thing he ever saw.

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Filed under Poodle Lore, Poodle Love, Poodle Personality, Poodle Quirks, Poodles |