60. "Black Widow Spiders"

This is a very informative and well-photographed children's book about black widows, their nearest relatives, their habits, and their mythology.

56. "Snakes: Long, Longer, Longest" by Jerry Pallotta and Van Wallach

Snakes: Long, Longer, Longest is a fun introduction to various kinds of snakes--longest, shortest, heaviest, lightest, fastest, slowest, and much more. The images seem to be collaged photos and are sort of trippy, for lack of a better word. The authors use "poisonous" and "venomous" interchangeably, which is a pet peeve of mine, but there's a lot of interesting information here for children interested in snakes.

52. "Baby Animals" by Daniel Gilpin

I can't find a link to this book, but it's filled with beautiful and adorable photographs of baby animals, as well as information about how various animals give birth, parent, learn, and grow. It's targeted to children, but with the size and amount of text, it seems intended more to be read aloud than for early readers to attempt it themselves.

51. "Sharks" by Seymour Simon

Sharks by Seymour Simon provides shark facts in a format targeted to kids--probably kids who are already interested in sharks (although what kid isn't?), because, apart from some obvious attempts to connect with kids, the text is fairly dry. It's also quite informative, however, and I learned some things I didn't know, such as the fact that sharks have six senses (and no, ESP isn't the sixth), and that great white sharks are warm-bodied but cold-blooded. (I caught part of a PBS special on sharks the other night, and the "warm-bodied" term was mentioned, but I misunderstood and thought they are warm-blooded. The book clarifies the difference.)

The photographs (taken by various photographers) are a treat. Images feature an array of sharks engaging in behavior from feeding to cruising to giving birth to emerging from tube-like eggs.

26. "The Daily Coyote" by Shreve Stockton

I first heard of Shreve Stockton and her pet coyote, Charlie, through her blog The Daily Coyote several years ago. I enjoyed seeing the photos, reading about Charlie's puppyhood and growth, and vicariously experiencing life in a one-room cabin in Wyoming. But eventually I stopped visiting the blog because I had a bad feeling that one day I'd open my browser window and read about Charlie being shot by a rancher or hit by a car. Yes, I'm morbid. Yes, I'm a pessimist. And yes, I have learned to shelter myself from the kinds of tragedies that I know will ravage me emotionally.

At any rate, I was proven wrong about Charlie, fortunately. He's leading what appears to be a blissful coyote existence with Stockton, her cat Eli, a hound friend, and various livestock in rural, windswept Wyoming. Stockton's still posting daily photos, and she's written a book, also titled The Daily Coyote, chronicling her first year with Charlie.

Her significant other, who kills nuisance coyotes for the government, rescued Charlie as a 10-day-old pup after shooting both of his parents, then delivered the orphaned coyote to Stockton's door. Not sure she wanted a commitment to anything more demanding than her free-roaming cat, she nonetheless adopted Charlie and set about learning how to raise him.

The book follows her trials and joys with Charlie: his determination to win Eli's affection, the challenges of keeping a baby coyote safe from hunters and coyote-hating ranchers, a bout with Parvo virus, the process of his neutering via band, aggression issues as he grows to adulthood and his wild nature asserts itself. As Stockton struggles to give Charlie the best life possible, she also grapples with issues in her human relationship. At times, her philosophy is a bit (I hesitate to use this phrase but can't think of a better one) New Age-y; for example, when Charlie is ill with Parvo, she tells him she understands if he decides he doesn't want to stay in a life without freedom, and it's his choice whether to live or die. But she seems very genuine in her beliefs, and there's no question that she loves Charlie and is extremely committed to giving him the best life he can have. Part of her struggle is learning to do that without sacrificing too much of her own well-being.

Some of the challenges she confronts with Charlie remind me of situations I've faced with Bishop--not the wild-animal aspects, obviously, but the amusements and frustrations of life with a high-spirited canine, especially to someone who isn't a natural "alpha."

I also have to confess that I'm darned jealous of Shreve Stockton, and not just because she has a pet coyote. She's found community, roots, love, purpose, belonging, and fulfillment in a tiny cow town in Wyoming. She's several years younger than I am and has published two books. I'm still fighting to find my niche, to discover both an internal and an external center, stability, long-term community. I often despair of whether these things exist. But reading about someone who drove through a state on a Vespa and decided, a month later, to move back, not knowing anyone, not having a job, having nothing but a profound sense that this is where she belonged--this inspires me and gives me hope, mixed with my envy.

3. "The Grizzly Maze" by Nick Jans

So I'm already lagging behind on my book-a-day goal. But I did say I'd read two books some days, no books other days. Right now I'm packing for a move that's been pushed up, over the course of the last few weeks, from February to Thanksgiving. And when I'm not packing, so many things are going through my mind that concentrating on anything more complex than a 20-minute sitcom is difficult.

But I've managed to get through Nick Jans' very readable The Grizzly Maze. The book takes as its starting point the controversial life and death of Timothy Treadwell, a Malibu cocktail waiter (although that's an oversimplification, of course) who conceived a passionate love for brown/grizzly bears. He spent 13 summers living in their midst in Alaska's Katmai National Park, naming the bears, advocating for them (sometimes against foes in whose existence no one but him believed), breaking every bear-safety rule, inserting himself into their midst, trying to become a bear. And finally--as he himself seemed to almost hope--he was killed and mostly eaten by bears. Unfortunately, so was Amie Huguenard, his girlfriend/ female companion/ woman who loved him but seemed to have an ambiguous position in his life. Also unfortunately, the rescue team killed not only the bear eating their remains but a second bear who was overly curious or aggressive, and whom a bear guide later said was "a friendly little guy" and "just curious."

So this is the paradox of Treadwell's life and death: He loved bears, but helping them become habituated to humans probably did them no favors. In addition, his death at their claws and teeth resulted directly in the deaths of two bears.

Jans, a longtime Alaska resident, brings in his own experience--from visiting Treadwell's campsite days after the killings, to accounts of hunting and later photographing bears, to tales of the bears he and his neighbors encounter in suburban Juneau. He traces a short history of human-bear interactions, bear science and conservation efforts throughout the world, and recent grizzly attacks and fatalities.

The book is savage in places. I didn't like Jans very well after one of his hunt stories--although, to be fair, he admits that he loathes himself for his behavior in that saga, too. I'm ambivalent about Treadwell, who sounds like an amiable, well-meaning, sometimes clueless flake, who forged a deep connection with bears but whose legacy still seems ambiguous.

Inured by crime dramas, true-crime books and photos, and/or misanthropy, I wasn't especially disturbed by the deaths of Treadwell and Huguenard; but I felt nauseated by one account of a human killing a grizzly, and I had to skim over several other passages. This perhaps doesn't speak well of me.

Treadwell reminded me in some ways of Chris McCandless, the subject of Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, and Jans himself mentions this comparison. Both McCandless and Treadwell were outsiders who came to Alaska seeking personal fulfillment or redemption, and both perished in part because of their own actions (and/or ignorance, hubris, disrespect for conditions--fill in the blank). And, says Jans, both were fairly reviled after their deaths, particularly for the attention they drew. Jans himself gives what seems to be a balanced portrayal of Treadwell, interviewing people who knew him well, his close friends, bear guides, park rangers, scientists, and others with an array of conflicting opinions of the man and his methods.

However, more than just being the story of a man who yearned for a life outside human civilization--and did what he could to realize his dream--I think The Grizzly Maze is a valuable jumping-off point for further reading and research about human-bear interactions. In fact, when I finish this blog entry, I'm going to hop onto my Amazon wish list, Jans' bibliography in hand, and make some additions.

One of the brown/grizzly bears in Seattle's Woodland Park Zoo. Photo copyright Monique Bos, 2010.