Early this morning I was driving along the international highway, the one that runs along the dark forest. Wolves and bears live in these places, so when I noticed a brown spot on the roadside, I wasn’t surprised at first.
My foot pressed the gas automatically, but on a second glance I realized: the bear wasn’t just sitting — he was tangled in a large net. The ropes squeezed his shoulders and paws, his fur was clumped, the animal was breathing heavily and growling as if begging for help.
Cars sped past: some honked, some filmed on their phones, but no one stopped. My conscience hurt so much that I turned on the hazard lights, put up a warning sign, and took gloves and an emergency seatbelt cutter from the trunk.
I walked up slowly, repeating out loud the same thing: “Easy… I’m here, buddy.”
The bear jerked, growled, but didn’t attack. In his amber eyes I saw not anger, but desperate exhaustion.
The rope cage was brutal: the knots were pulled impossibly tight. I cut along the knots, trying not to touch the skin. Every second stretched out: the engine of my car crackled, and from the forest came a cool breeze and the smell of wet grass.
First I freed the right paw, then the shoulder. The bear growled more quietly, listened to the sound of the knife scraping, and endured. Finally the last cord gave way, and the net slid off like a heavy cloak.
I froze. We looked at each other; he could have attacked — I knew that. But at that moment the bear did something that left me in shock 😱😱 Continuation in the first comment 👇👇
But the animal only slightly lifted its head, as if memorizing my face, and without looking away, backed into the forest. I exhaled, picked up the rolled-up net, and was already reaching for the car door when the bushes rustled again.
The bear returned. My heart sank, but I immediately noticed: in its mouth it was holding a tiny cub. The mother carefully put the baby down on the grass and stepped back a little.
The cub squeaked, pressed its nose against my boot, and the mother stood nearby, not taking her eyes off me for a second. I knelt down and ran my palm along the soft warm back — the animal allowed it. It felt as if it were saying: “Look, this is the one you saved me for.”
A minute later the bear picked up her cub and disappeared into the shadows of the fir trees. I called the forestry service, reported the poacher’s trap, and only then continued driving — with a lightness in my chest and the feeling that the forest itself had nodded at me in gratitude.
