John Carlisle

Gannett Michigan

NEWBERRY – Once there were three little bears who lived Up North.

They'd been orphaned one by one when their mothers got killed by cars or loggers or guns. Normally, the cubs might've been shopped to zoos. If that didn't work, they'd likely be put down.

But there was a ranch in the Upper Peninsula that took bears like them, and its owner said he'd adopt the cubs.

People in the area found out about these fuzzy new neighbors and started coming by to see them. There were so many visitors, in fact, that Dean Oswald, the man behind Oswald's Bear Ranch, opened his doors to the public, letting them wander the trails and watch the older bears in their natural habitat.

And he let people pet the bear cubs, hold them in their laps like babies, feed them out of their hands and take photos with them.

One day, a visitor didn't like what she saw and complained, which brought out someone from a federal agency, which told the ranch to stop. There's a law, they said, against people being too close to bears.

That ended the snuggling.

"We did it for 25 years and never had a problem," Dean said. "We used to let people hold on to them, let the bears hang on to them and suckle on their neck and ears. And suddenly we got shut down."

But the crowds who couldn't get in to see the cubs anymore weren't happy. They shot off letters and made phone calls to elected officials. And before long, the issue was adopted by a state senator, taken to committee, discussed in the Legislature, publicly debated by supporters and opponents, and eventually brought to the governor's desk.

All this over a few little bears.

'They're my babies'

Dean is a gruff ex-Marine, a longtime boxer, an old-time hockey player and a career firefighter. His face is chiseled by age, topped by a gray crew cut and accented with a nose that's been broken 17 times in the boxing ring. He speaks in four-word sentences. His voice sounds like it's filtered through gravel.

And he's the mom around here.

"They're my babies," the 75-year-old growled. He wore a shirt that had "Grumpy Old Bear" written on it.

"And I'm their mama."

He grew up in Bay City, learned how to box in the military and at one time was the No. 2 heavyweight fighter in Michigan. He was inducted into the Bay County Sports Hall of Fame in 2007, not just for his skills in the ring but also for his Junior Olympic boxing program at the Bay City Boys Club, which took in dozens of troubled kids from rough areas and tried to channel their energy into something constructive.

At the same time, he was a Bay City fireman, retiring just shy of 20 years after being injured while trying to douse a house fire.

"Messed me up bad," he said. "My lungs."

He moved to the Upper Peninsula after retirement, bought a ranch from a guy he happened to meet in a bar and got his first bear in 1985. Just because he always wanted a bear.

"I've liked bears ever since I was 6 years old," he said. "I was up here in the Upper Peninsula. We'd vacation up here and see bears in this particular area. And I said when I retire, this is where I'm going to be."

The ranch became a local institution. Dean would appear at county fairs with his cubs. Village officials in Newberry asked if the bears could be in holiday parades. Local markets and restaurants began donating old produce and food scraps to the ranch.

All the while, more bears kept arriving. There are few places in the country to take an orphaned or beaten bear, so whenever one needed a home, Dean got the call.

Eighty acres grew to 240. A couple bears swelled to a couple dozen, all from rescues. And all the bears stay there for life.

Sometimes it's a grown bear rescued from an abusive owner. But most often, he gets newborn cubs in the dead of winter and bottle-feeds them himself once every three hours.

"That's why they all think of him as mother," said his son Carl, 44. "When they open up their eyes that's the first thing they see."

All his bears come with a rough past. Like Bonnie and Clyde, two bear cubs rescued downstate by the Department of Natural Resources after a logger ran over their den, killed their mother and another cub, and illegally took the remaining two cubs home with him.

And Solo, a big bear rescued from Minnesota after someone pepper-sprayed him to chase him from its den under someone's cabin and wildlife officials announced plans to kill him.

And Boo Boo, a bear whose owner removed his eyeteeth and claws, neutered him and kept him in a cage until someone reported him and the DNR took him away.

"Nobody wants them," Dean said. "Not even zoos. They don't have enough room for them. And to be quite honest, if I hear a cub bear going to a zoo, I'll try to buy it. I hate to see a bear in a zoo because they're in a cage. It's like putting a person in solitary confinement."

Froot Loops dispute

Two summers ago, an attorney in town from the East Coast visited the ranch and saw people cuddling baby bears and feeding them their favorite treat — Froot Loops. She disapproved of this snack choice, complained, left and made some phone calls.

Dean thought this was just silly.

"Babies eat Froot Loops," he said. "All my kids have had Froot Loops all their lives at breakfast. I don't know why my bears can't have them." The rest of the time, he noted, they eat fruits, vegetables and meat.

But her complaints prompted a visit from an official with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, who took one look and said the Froot Loops were the least of the problems.

He notified the Oswalds that they were in violation of Michigan's Large Carnivore Act, which prohibits the public from having contact with large animals like bears or lions.

Dean figured these are bear cubs. They're not big enough to kill someone, and nobody had been injured by a cub on his ranch. He's so sure it's safe he has never required visitors to sign a liability waiver. None of that mattered. Rules are rules, he was told.

Dean called his local representative, state Sen. Tom Casperson, R-Escanaba, who said this isn't just about bears. Oswald's is a popular tourist destination. People who come out here also get gas in town, and eat lunch and buy souvenirs. It might seem like a small operation, but out here it has a measurable impact.

He introduced a bill that would amend the carnivore act to put the ranch in compliance with the law, letting people handle bear cubs up to 9 months old or 90 pounds.

But there was a lot of opposition to the change from animal rights activists, the Humane Society and several zoos in Michigan, including the Detroit Zoo.

"The practice of handling and using bear cubs for photo opportunities with the public seriously compromises animal welfare and threatens public safety," wrote Jill Fritz, Michigan director of the Humane Society, in testimony to the House Agriculture Committee. She, like other opponents, said it's simply too dangerous for people to fraternize with wild bears.

The bill initially failed to pass, largely because of fears it would spawn a proliferation of bear petting ranches. After being narrowed in scope, it passed the House and Senate and was signed in March 2013 by Gov. Rick Snyder.

"Oswald's Bear Ranch is an important piece of the Upper Peninsula culture," Snyder said at the time in a news release. "The Oswalds play an important role in raising rescued cubs to adulthood, as well as providing the public with education about black bears."

Nevertheless, there are restrictions now. People can't cuddle the bears anymore. The cubs can't eat out of someone's hand, either. Instead, a cub stands on a little wood stool in a fenced-in pen, and the visitor can pet it and use a spoon to feed it.

Froot Loops, of course.

Even with the changes, the experience still remains a thrill for visitors. "I think it's awesome," said Linda Stark of Traverse City, waiting to feed a cub. "What they do here is good."

The 59-year-old came to the ranch with her husband, Randy, and their grandkids. They'd brought their kids here 17 years ago when the ranch first opened. They wanted their grandchildren to enjoy this opportunity too.

"Their parents are city people," she said about her grandkids. "These guys may not ever get a chance to get this close to bears."

'Hey, little guy!'

The old bear stood up, looked down at Carl and started gnawing on his arm playfully.

The crowd gasped. Carl seemed indifferent to being used as a bear binky.

"It's just like a pacifier for a baby," he said nonchalantly as the 400-pound bear chewed away. "They still think they're babies. We got a couple of bears that don't even know they're bears."

Carl and his dad are the only ones who get in with the bears because they're the only ones the bears know well. "You have to have contact with them all the time," Dean said. "If you don't have contact when they're younger, they don't know you when they're older. They're like, 'Hey, who are you and why are you in here?' "

Sometimes, the adult bears let Carl ride on their backs. Most often, Dean just strolls the habitat with the bears walking dutifully at his side, as the crowd watches partly in fear and totally in awe.

"You come here, you want to be able to pet a cub like a puppy dog," Dean said, watching as people waited to take selfies with a bear. "It's put a lot of smiles on a lot of kids' faces. And adults. They love it."

A young couple got into the pen and approached the cub, who couldn't hold still in his puppyish excitement. The man's nervousness melted and his face lit up as he got close. "Hey, little guy!" he cooed.

His wife looked genuinely stunned at being next to the cub. And she was thrilled.

"I'm touching a bear!" she said.

John Carlisle is a columnist for the Detroit Free Press.

If you go

Oswald's Bear Ranch is at 13814 County Road 407 (H-37), Newberry. Hours are 9:30 a.m.-5:30 p.m. daily through Sept. 30. Admission is $20 per car. For more information, call 906-293-3147.