In August 2014, conservation biologist Steve Krichbaum was searching for wood turtles on a small plateau in a West Virginia forest. His dog Henry was exploring below, near a stream, out of sight. Henry – a fluffy former stray so joyfully affectionate Krichbaum’s former partner nicknamed him the “Love Dragon” – accompanied him everywhere, hiking, swimming and camping together.
“I hear these sticks snap,” Krichbaum says. “And there are these two bear cubs running up the slope.” Concerned Henry might chase them, he turned and started shouting for him, then, turning back around, saw an adult black bear running towards him. Krichbaum tried to appear “big and loud”, waving his arms and shouting, but the bear kept charging. He ran down the slope to try to escape, but “she ran down the bank and immediately grabbed my thigh in her jaws and knocked me to the ground. She’s biting both my thighs, and I’m hitting her, then she’d grab and bite my forearms. I’m in a foetal position and her head was literally a foot away from my head and I’m thinking to myself my God, if she keeps doing this, I’m afraid she’s going to get my femoral artery … I’m going to die down here. Then I see this white flash over to the right of me and it’s Henry.” Henry jumped on to the bear’s back and started biting her. “Well, that got her attention.” She let go of Krichbaum, turning on Henry. “She’s biting him in his chest and stomach and he’s literally screaming.”
