Littlest Bear’s Big Adventures

Littlest Bear’s Big Adventures 

As soon as Beginning of Time had begun, Bears ambled traipsily hither and yon. Bigger and small of them, shorter and tall of them, furrily all of them—all, except one.

Bigger Bear, chuffing and snuffily shuffling, waddled and waded in water so crystalline. Wishfully, fishingly, ever more cleverly snatching and catching the slippery prey, Bigger Bear—robust and pridefully powerful—routed his cowerful rivals away.

Tauntingly, flauntingly, flourishing famously, growling and gloatsome or sleepily still, Bear was impressive. His manner (possessive) of keeping his habitat his, was aggressive. 

His fettle was fine and his mettle astir when he chanced upon Gossip that prickled his fur and set it on end. 

“I contend,” said Bear, priggishly, fearsome and biggishly, “Rumors are spreading that mustn't be true. There’s Word hereabout of a Bear that is stout and invincible—nearly invisible, too. I can’t comprehend it. I find it offensive!” 

So, thoughtfully pensive, his mind in a stew, he settled himself at the side of a slough. 

It’s silly! Bear spoke to himself. They’re elusive, yet everywhere? Can’t be! The facts are askew!

The slippery slope that he sat on collapsed, and he grasped at the moss that grew greenly and thick. From within (was he dreaming?) the pawful of stuff, now a voice came. Or did it? Bear’s mind played a trick.

But perhaps…

Yet again to his ear, from the clump of chartreuse, came a chatter—insistent, profuse. A soft little patter of verbiage, persistent, from herbage he held in his sizeable paw.

So now the plot thickens! Bear tightened his jaw. And it quickens my wit. Now, just what can it—?

“Aha! ~ Who’s there?” Bigger Bear held his paw to his eye and attempted to spy out the source of the sound, but he couldn’t see where and he couldn’t see what and he couldn’t see when, which, or who would be found.

“Look closer!” the high, tintinnabular wisp of a voice cried, impatient, with never a lisp. “If your wish is to see me, our nascent relationship quickly will bloom to a confabulation.”

So Bear, to his credit, did something no predator—ursid or otherwise—practiced before. He squinted and blinked and he squinted some more, until something appeared that he couldn’t ignore:

A comical caricature of a bear, microscopic in size, with a manner methodical, sat in a nest of some moisty-green moss with a charming appearance (indeed, arthropodical).

Though he was tiny, his limbs were abundant. There seemed to be eight—Isn’t that quite redundant? the Bigger Bear thought, but didn’t remark on excessive appendages, useful or not.

“You’re such a little thing!” Bear said, astonished. 

“Oh, never mind that,” the small creature admonished. “My kith and my kin can survive astronomical heights and extremes. Such superb anatomical, marvelous forms are quite handy, it seems.

“We’ve undergone freezing, and boiling, and frying. From bloated to wrinklish. Hydration to drying. Some sleep, Rip-Van-Winkleish, for decades, you know. When put under pressure, our functions can slow.

“We’ve been given a gift of surviving extremes. It’s called cryptobiosis. Quite special, it seems. When times are too trying for us to exist without water sufficient, (now, here comes the twist!) we enter a ‘tun’. It’s unique and efficient! And here’s how it’s done: Now, the process we use is the natural slowing or stopping of growing and bodily functions depleting our juices.

“Our skin, as it were, is a suit made of armor-y firmness; from harm or egregious abuse it’s a shield. You know, it’s a buckler we use. But we certainly grow, and our hide has no stretch or elastic-y trait—so we know we must wait ’til we molt, and a new shell of protein is made. As we wade in the water or sit in the sun, whether fully alert or asleep in a ‘tun’, this fantastical cuticle, envelope, covering, custom veneer is a plus, and a boon.

“We’ve gone (well, not I, but my kind) to the moon, in a desiccate form, and returned to resume, rehydrated, our lives on this ball we call Earth. And I’ll tell you another thing, for what it’s worth.

“We’ve been here all along, but were never discovered until a zoologist happened to spot, in a droplet of water above which he hovered, a minuscule critter. Quite rightly, he thought ‘twas enough like yourself, Bigger Bear, to proclaim, ‘Little Water-Bear. That is an accurate name!’”

(“‘Kleiner Wasserbär. Das ist ein richtiger Name!’ in German he said, but it all means the same.”)

“Another man—this one Italian—describing our method of moving about in the wet, thought the name ‘tardigrada’, (‘slow stepper’) was better. And so, for our phylum, a label we get. It’s a shame that the name gives a notion of weakness, instead of uniqueness. We’re little, but hardy! We’re tough as a post. Does it count that we’re tardy, with leisurely motion that’s slower than most?”

“I never!” said Bigger Bear. “All so surprising and wondrous to hear. Never fear—now, I shan’t be despising (you might be surmising) the little things. Dear friend, my deep admiration you’ve earned, and I’m honored indeed that I’ve learned what you’ve taught; that what counts is the thought. It’s not slowness or speed, but persistence! ‘Twas at your insistence, I heeded your voice!”

“I rejoice!” answered Water-Bear, clapping his paws mid-air. (Only the front ones; his hinder-legs gripping to hold, without slipping, the greenery grasped in the Bigger Bear’s paw.)

And now that he knew that the Rumor was true about Tardigrades, Water-Bears, Moss-Piglets too—the Bigger Bear happily, traipsily ambled. Reciting routinely, he boastfully rambled—to any who’d hear—of the sight that he saw (when he slipped on the slope) in the moss on his paw.

Now Water-Bear, flat in the moss-clump he sat—’til he dried in the wind and the sun made him fried. And that Water-Bear fritter, that Tardigrade critter that you might consider a Moss-Piglet too, entered cryptobiosis. And there he’d remain ’til the coming of rain rehydrated his toeses to plumpness again. 

Never worse for wear, Water-Bear tumbled and toddled—all furlessly bare—and translucently swaddled in wetness abundant, with multiple limbs of which some are redundant (as Bigger Bear thought), but they help when he swims, so you mustn’t exclaim that their purpose is lame.

There’s more to the story of Tardigrade glory; of Water-Bear beauty; of Moss-Piglet pride. You’ve heard of their toughness, inordinate fortitude, ursid resemblance, impervious hide. 

Just as Bigger Bear thought, there’s a thickening plot and the ending is not (and may never be) known. For scientists say, as they study away on the rare DNA, that the special genome has been sequenced and shown to be helpful to human survival. So, truly and verily, buoyantly, merrily minikin Water-Bear, since his arrival, has waited to be of particular worth as he floated or sat in the greenishly moss of the firth, or the slough at the end of the slope where the Bear made a friend. (That’s The End.)