The Dot on Bear’s Stone
Hazel was a red squirrel. She was very small and very bossy, and she kept everyone’s jobs in order.
She told the ducks when to fly south. She told the hedgehog when to curl up. And every year, when winter came, she told Big Bear when to go to bed.
Big Bear was her best friend. He was enormous and slow, and he did not mind being told things.
On the evening the first snow began, Hazel ran up Big Bear’s leg, along his back, over his head, and sat down on the very end of his nose. Big Bear looked at her so hard that both his eyes pointed into the middle. He went cross-eyed. He always did.
“Bear,” said Hazel. “Bed. Now.”
“Yes, Hazel,” said Big Bear.
A bear must be asleep before the snow gets deep. Then he sleeps soundly all winter and wakes up in spring, hungry and happy. Hazel wanted that for Big Bear more than anything.
So Big Bear went into his den. He turned round three times. He lay down on his heap of leaves with a great big flumph.
Then he got up again.
“I’ve forgotten something,” said Big Bear.
Big Bear could not read. So every autumn he scratched his winter jobs onto a flat stone with his claw, one little picture for each job. The stone sat by the door of his den.
Hazel hopped down to look.
First there was a heap of leaves. That meant make your bed. Next there was a wavy line. That meant say goodnight to the waterfall. Next there was a round bush with round berries. That meant cover the berry bushes.
And at the very bottom there was a dot. Just one small dot.
“What’s the dot for?” said Hazel.
Big Bear scratched his ear. “I can’t remember,” he said. “That’s the trouble.”
Hazel pointed at the heap of leaves. “Was it your bed?”
“Not that,” said Big Bear. “Something smaller.”
Hazel looked at the snow. It was coming down in big white flakes. There was no time for a muddle.
“Then we’ll check everything,” said Hazel. “Head down, please.”
Big Bear put his head down. Hazel climbed up between his ears and held on to his fur.
“Forward!” said Hazel. And off they went.
Across the stream were the stepping stones, and past them was the waterfall.
The stepping stones were just right for a squirrel. They were much too small for a bear.
Big Bear put one paw on the first stone. Plip. He put one paw on the second stone. Plop. Then he put one paw on the third stone, and his other three paws in the water. Sploosh.
“Cold,” said Big Bear.
“Keep going,” said Hazel. She did not get one drop on her.
Big Bear waded to the waterfall. It was tumbling over the rocks, white and splashy.
“Goodnight, waterfall,” said Big Bear. “See you in spring.”
The waterfall went shhhhh. Big Bear stood and frowned.
“Was it the waterfall?” said Hazel.
“Not that,” said Big Bear. “Something smaller.”
On the other side of the stream was the high ridge. The berry bushes grew all along the top of it.
Big Bear climbed up slowly, one big paw after another. Hazel rode on his head and told him the way. “Left. Up. No, the other left. Up again.”
The snow was getting thicker now. It landed on Big Bear’s ears. It landed on Hazel’s ears too, and she shook it off with a tiny sneeze.
At the top, Big Bear tucked dry brown ferns over every berry bush, like blankets, so there would be berries again in spring. Hazel counted. There were nine.
“Was it the berry bushes?” said Hazel.
Big Bear shook his big head, very gently.
“Not that,” said Big Bear. “Something smaller.”
Hazel sat down on the end of his nose to think. Big Bear went cross-eyed.
Smaller than a bed. Smaller than a waterfall. Smaller than nine berry bushes. Hazel looked all round the top of the ridge. There was snow. There were ferns. There was one enormous bear. And there was one very small squirrel, sitting in the middle of his big brown face, like a dot.
Hazel looked down at her own red paws.
“Bear,” said Hazel. “Was it me?”
Big Bear looked at her for a long time, with both eyes pointing into the middle.
“That’s it,” said Big Bear. “That’s the something smaller. Every winter I say goodnight to you last of all. So I drew you at the bottom. You’re very small, so I drew you as a dot.”
He sighed a big bear sigh. “And you were right here on my nose the whole time. I looked everywhere except right in front of me.”
For once, Hazel could not think of a single thing to tell him to do.
They went back down the ridge. They went back over the stepping stones. Plip. Plop. Sploosh.
“Cold,” said Big Bear.
“Nearly there,” said Hazel, and this time she said it softly.
Big Bear went into his den. He turned round three times. He lay down on his heap of leaves with a great big flumph. Hazel sat on the end of his nose, and he went cross-eyed one last time.
“Goodnight, Hazel,” said Big Bear. “You’re the smallest thing on my list. But I can’t sleep without you.”
Hazel leaned down and touched her little nose to his big one.
“Goodnight, Bear,” said Hazel. “See you in spring.”
Big Bear smiled. His eyes closed. And before Hazel had even climbed down off his nose, he was snoring. Hrrrm-shooo. Hrrrm-shooo.
Hazel tiptoed out. She tucked a big leaf over the door of the den, to keep the snow off. On her way past the stone, she gave the dot a little pat.
Then she scampered home to her drey, a round nest of twigs high up in an oak tree. She curled up small and put her tail over her nose.
The snow came down soft on Big Bear’s den. It came down soft on Hazel’s tree. Every job on the list was done, right down to the dot.
And the dot was fast asleep.