Cub Family Quotes

We know, for instance, that there is a direct, inverse relationship between frequency of family meals and social problems. Bluntly stated, members of families who eat together regularly are statistically less likely to stick up liquor stores, blow up meth labs, give birth to crack babies, commit suicide, or make donkey porn. If Little Timmy had just had more meatloaf, he might not have grown up to fill chest freezers with Cub Scout parts.

It was time for him to care for her. She’d given much of herself in the last few days. Far too much. She’d sealed her fate when she stepped in like a lioness protecting her cubs and watched over him so faithfully. She may or may not have made her ultimate decision on that bluff where he’d begged her for time to make things right. But now she was his. And nothing or no one would ever come between them. Not her family. Not his clan. He wasn’t ever going to give her up without one hell of a fight.

Mr Comyn gathered up his hand and began to sort the cards. "I must thank you, I suppose, but anything in the nature of irregularity, or clandestine conduct, is distasteful to me - especially in this delicate affair." "Then you shouldn't ally yourself with my family," replied his lordship.

Oh, is that right? You know, a lioness will protect her cub by baring her teeth, by roaring, using her claws to defend her cub if she feels she has to - this mother, has other means. You are standing in the way of my daughter's best interests. If you try to pick our peach from our family tree, you will be picking a fight. Do you understand me?

I have said that women are like lionesses at the gate of the home. Whatever happens in a woman's home and family happens because she cares about it and it matters to her. She guards that gate, and if something matters to her, it matters to her family. . . . It is very difficult to get a lion cub away from a lioness who doesn't believe in missions, but if the lioness believes in a mission, she will devote her life to preparing her cub to go out and serve the Lord. . . . Service happens if she cares about it. . . . We know that when our priorities are out of order, we lose power. [Choose Ye This Day to Serve the Lord: Talks from the 2010 BYU Women's Conference (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 2010), 5-6, 12]

Traits of a Rising Woman 1. Supportive and loyal 2. Doesn’t take things personally 3. Empathetic yet assertive 4. Guided by intuition 5. Roams wild within nature 6. Lover of full moons and sunsets 7. Protective of her wildling cubs 8. Unable to be manipulated or controlled 9. Build’s others up 10. Knows her worth

We did the dishes and talked--about the cattle business, about my job back in L.A., about his local small town, about family. Then we adjourned to the sofa to watch an action movie, pausing occasionally to remind each other once again of the reason God invented lips. Curiously, though, while sexy and smoldering, Marlboro Man kept his heavy breathing to a minimum. This surprised me. He was not only masculine and manly, he lived in the middle of nowhere--one might expect that because of the dearth of women within a twenty-mile range, he’d be more susceptible than most to getting lost in a heated moment. But he wasn’t. He was a gentleman through and through--a sizzling specimen of a gentleman who was singlehandedly introducing me to a whole new universe of animal attraction, but a gentleman, nonetheless. And though my mercury was rising rapidly, his didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He walked me to my car as the final credits rolled, offering to follow me all the way home if I wanted. “Oh, no,” I said. “I can get home, no problem.” I’d lived in L.A. for years; it’s not like driving alone at night bothered me. I started my car and watched him walk back toward his front door, admiring every last thing about him. He turned around and waved, and as he walked inside I felt, more than ever, that I was in big trouble. What was I doing? Why was I here? I was getting ready to move to Chicago--home of the Cubs and Michigan Avenue and the Elevated Train. Why had I allowed myself to stick my toe in this water? And why did the water have to feel so, so good?

Along came Aldo Leopold. He was a U.S. Forest Service ranger who initially supported Pinchot’s use-oriented management of forests. A seasoned hunter, he had long believed that good game management required killing predators that preyed on deer. Then one afternoon, hunting with a friend on a mountain in New Mexico, he spied a mother wolf and her cubs, took aim, and shot them. “We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes,” Leopold wrote. “There was something new to me in those eyes—something known only to her and the mountain. I was young then, and full of trigger-itch. I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, no wolves would mean a hunter’s paradise. But after seeing the fierce green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view.” The wolf’s fierce green fire inspired Leopold to extend ethics beyond the boundaries of the human family to include the larger community of animals, plants, and even soil and water. He enshrined this natural code of conduct in his famous land ethic: “A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability, and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise.” Carol inscribed Leopold’s land ethic in her journal when she was a teenager and has steadfastly followed it throughout her life. She believes that it changes our role from conqueror of the earth to plain member and citizen of it. Leopold led the effort to create the first federally protected wilderness area: a half million acres of the Gila National Forest in New Mexico was designated as wilderness in 1924. Leopold had laid the groundwork for a national wilderness system, interconnected oases of biodiversity permanently protected from human development.

How’d you like that valentine I sent you?” “You sent me?” said Sister. “You sent me this valentine?” “Yep,” said Billy. “I saved up for weeks to get it.” Sister was confused. She didn’t know what to say, so she just said, “Thanks.” She was still confused that evening when she showed Billy’s valentine to Mama. “Well, it certainly is beautiful,” said Mama, “and I understand your puzzlement. It takes me back to when I was a cub your age. There was this awful boy, just like Billy Grizzwold. He was just awful. The things he did! One time he chased me with a thousand-legger.” “Yuck!” said Sister. “And that wasn’t the worst of it,” continued Mama. “Once he put a giant bullfrog in my lunch box. It scared me half to death when it jumped out. It scared the whole class. It got me in a peck of trouble.” “How about that awful boy?” asked Sister. “Didn’t he get in trouble?” “Oh, yes. From time to time!” said Mama. “But after a while, he straightened out, got married, and raised a family. He became a solid citizen.” “Do I know him?” asked Sister. “Yes,” said Mama. “He’s sitting right over there. It was your papa.” Sister looked over at Papa, whose face was buried in the newspaper.

The people who are meat eaters are bound to have little sensitivity, they are more hard. Even in the name of love they will kill; even in the name of peace they will go to war. In the name of freedom, in the name of democracy, they will murder. A cannibal cannot be called human. If he can eat living human beings, he has no heart, he has no love, he has no sensitivity. He is just a stone. But you don't think the same way when somebody kills a lion or a deer, because you don't think that the deer has as much life as you have. The deer may have a beloved; the deer may have children. You don't think of the lion, when you kill him, that he may have a family. His small cubs will be orphans. He is as alive as you are - in fact more alive than you are. Destroying him only for a few taste buds on your tongue, for the taste... It seems to me that killing animals for eating is not very far away from killing human beings. They differ only in their body, in their shape, but it is the same life that you are destroying. With new technology the earth is perfectly capable of giving you food. You can make it as tasteful as you want, and you can give it any flavor that you love. Just for taste, destroying life is simply disgusting. And destroying life, you are destroying many qualities in you. You cannot become a Gautam Buddha. You cannot have that purity of consciousness, that sensitivity.

It seemed that now, more than ever, he relished having his little family unit. Now that Robert was getting bigger, Steve was enjoying spending time with both the kids and seemed much more appreciate of how comfortable our relationship had become. I was pleasantly surprised when the phone rang and it was Steve, calling all the way from Washington, D.C. He sounded concerned. “Mate, when I hugged you good-bye at the airport, it felt like there was something wrong.” I was always impressed with the way Steve could tune in to my feelings. “The longer we’re together, the more I worry when we’re apart,” I confessed. “We just have to make every day, every minute we’re together count,” Steve replied. “I know,” I told him. “I just miss you so much.” “Don’t worry, babe,” he said. “I’ll be home in a couple days. Big cities just aren’t my cup of tea.” When he did come home, we had new Sumatran tiger cubs to play with at the zoo, and new bush adventures to embark upon.

Are we through here? I wish to go" "Go where?" "Anywhere. Away. Back to America, if need be. It's obvious that Charles's faith and trust in his family's desire to care for his baby daughter were unfounded. Neither she nor I are wanted here." "Don't be absurd." She reached for Charlotte's blanket. "I am being practical." "Practicality is not a quality I associate with most females of my acquaintance." "With all due respect to the females of your acquaintance, Your Grace, I was born and raised in the wilderness of Maine. Those who were not practical, resourceful, and hardy did not survive." "Maine? How is it, then, that you ended up in Boston?" "My father died when I was sixteen, mauled by a black bear defending her cub. He had a cousin in Boston, who'd always fancied my mother from afar. After Papa died, he came for Mama and me, married her, and took us both back to Boston. Mama died in '74. You know about my stepfather."  She picked up her cloak, preparing to leave this house and never look back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I think I've answered enough of your questions and had best be gone. Good night to you." He never moved as she breezed past his desk, Charlotte in her arms. "Don't you wish to know how Lord Gareth fares?" he asked mildly, in an abrupt change of subject. "Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but you gave me no chance to ask." "I should think he'd like to thank you for saving his life." She paused halfway across the room, silently cursing him between her teeth. What tarnal game was he playing now? Without turning, she ground out, "He saved my life, not the other way around." "Not according to Lord Brookhampton.

It’s ‘round the next bend, down a sunny dirt road. Just ask the next squirrel, Caterpillar, or toad for the tree-house home of the Bear family, where Ma, Pa, and the cubs are cozy and warm in their split-level tree. Just at the moment, Inside their quaint home, They’re reading the harvest honeycomb. “Honeycomb dribble, honeycomb drip, what lies ahead? A handsome stranger? Money? A trip? Grizzly growl, grizzly grum, warn us of any danger to come! Then, Mama blew hard. Loose flour flew. Who caught the flour? Papa, that’s who. But Mama and Papa both had turned white-- Pa from the flour, Mama from fright. The sign in the pan, stuck to the honey, was no handsome stranger, no trip, no money, but a bone-chilling warning of danger ahead, the frightening footprint of a great giant’s tread. “Bigpaw!” breathed Mama. “Good grief and alas! The Thanksgiving Legend is coming to pass!

The Bears waited nervously while the judges studied, measured, and weighed, and then studied, measured, and weighed some more. Finally, they made their announcement: “THE FIRST-PRIZE WINNER--AND STILL CHAMPION…” Of course, that meant Farmer Ben had won. It was close--it turned out that Ben’s Monster was just a little bigger, rounder, and oranger than Papa’s Giant. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The Giant didn’t even come in second. A beautiful pumpkin grown by Miz McGrizz won second prize. The Giant came in third. Papa and the cubs were crushed…crushed and very quiet as they pushed their third-prize winner home. It wasn’t until they reached the crest of a hill that overlooked Bear Country that Mama decided to have her say. “I know you’re disappointed. But third prize is nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, Thanksgiving isn’t about contests and prizes. It’s about giving thanks. And it seems to me that we have a lot of be thankful for.” Perhaps it was Mama’s lecture, or maybe it was how beautiful Bear Country looked in the sunset’s rosy glow. But whatever the reason, Papa and the cubs began to understand what Mama was talking about. Even more so on Thanksgiving Day. After the Bears gave thanks for the wonderful meal they were about to enjoy, Sister Bear gave her own special thanks. “I’m thankful,” she said, “that we didn’twin first prize: if we had, The Giant would be on display in front of City Hall instead of being part of the yummy pies we’re going to have for dessert!” As the laughter faded and the Bears thought about the blessings of family, home, friends, and neighbors, they knew deep down in their hearts that there was no question about it--indeed they did have a great deal to be thankful for.

Pumpkins are just like everything else in nature,” said Papa Bear as he and the cubs finished weeding the pumpkin patch. “No two of them are exactly alike.” “That’s for sure,” agreed Brother Bear. “Look at that funny flat one and that lumpy one over there.” Then there was The Giant, which is what Papa had named one that just seemed to be getting bigger and bigger. “Why is it that no two things are exactly alike?” asked Sister Bear. “It’s just the way nature is,” answered Papa. “Time to wash up for supper!” called Mama Bear from the tree house steps. “What about Queenie McBear’s twin brothers?” asked Sister. “They certainly look a lot alike,” said Papa. “But I’ve noticed that Mrs. McBear can tell them apart quite easily.” “In you go,” said Mama, shooing her family into the house. But Sister didn’t go right in. She stood on the stoop for a moment and looked out over Bear Country. It was well into fall, so the days were getting shorter. Halloween had come and gone. Pretty soon the Bears would start thinking about Christmas. But right now Bear Country was aglow in the setting sun. Farmer Ben’s well-kept farm looked especially fine, with its baled hay, corn shocks, and pumpkins casting long shadows. “I guess nature’s pretty amazing,” Sister said as she looked out over the beautiful scene. “It’s the most amazing thing there is,” said Mama.

God knew she would ask nothing better than to be his wife, but she had sense enough to know that nothing but unhappiness could result from it. If he had loved her, if she had been of his world, approved by his family – but it was useless to speculate on the impossible.

I tilt my head, and my gaze follows my cub’s hand as it comes to rest on the other girl’s back. I’m trying to figure out this gesture. Human interactions, especially between people with familial connections, have always fascinated me. Probably because I’ve never understood them that well. This move, for example. Is it an unconscious action or a deliberate one? Is she offering comfort, reassurance? And if so, what’s necessitating the need? The other girl seems fine to me.

The bear is a symbol of motherly love and familial strength in the fiercest way. A mother bear will not allow her children to come to harm, but she will not coddle them either. No one dares come between the mother and her cubs, but still her cubs must keep up with her and learn to be strong themselves.

And stop thinking that we’re alike. We’re nothing alike.” He holds my gaze, looking like he’s arguing with himself over something. Finally, he says, “No, you’re not. Except for that lion’s blood that runs in the family.” I say quietly, “Thank you for that. But I’m not a lion. Compared to her, I’m…a cub.” “A baby lion is still a lion.

My grandmother, Vivian, and her siblings were the first Native American children in the Port Angeles school system. It was not an easy integration. They were bullied and beaten daily by the other children, having stones and slurs hurled at them with no one stepping in. When Lillian went to the White principal about this, it was clear he didn't see it as severe. I wonder if he dared to utter the words "kids will be kids" in front of an angry Bear Mother trying to protect her cubs. When he finally agreed to act, his generous solution was to release the siblings ten minutes earlier than everyone else, to give them a head start on their run home. It didn't always work.

Our knowledge is based on the origin stories of land, genealogy and ancestors. If you know the branches of the tree of relationship between tribal clans and family members, then you know who you are, said the panther to its cubs.

GIVING A VOICE “Julian Starks compassionately depicts animals who can only dream of the life they may have had if not for the thoughtless and cruel behavior of humans. We hope his beautiful images will inspire people to get active in whatever ways they can to help wildlife, from boycotting circuses with animal acts to refusing to have their photos taken with tiger cubs while on vacation. From talented photographers like Julian who document animals' plight to families who take the time to educate themselves before they buy that ticket, we can all make a difference for animals.

If you are hiking alone and see a mountain lion cub, would it be brave to try and get close enough for a photo? The mother lion, despite her natural fear of humans, will kill you to protect her cubs. She is protecting her young, showing courage. Yet, if her family was not threatened would she be showing cowardice by running away from humans?

Naasir wasn’t dark inside . . . but he was alone. The only one of his kind in the entire world. He had friends, had family, but he had no one who was like him. Mating wouldn’t change that, but it would give him a person who belonged to him just as much as he belonged to her. And maybe one day, they’d have a cub and there would be another like him in the world.

Our ongoing Hollywood education included the lesson that moviemaking is not finished once you actually make the movie. After that, you have to promote the movie, because if the audience doesn’t show up, all your hard work is a bit pointless. But before we could sell Crocodile Hunter: Collision Course to audiences, we had to sell it to the theater owners who were going to show it to the public. So the first stop for our promotional efforts was a gathering of movie theater exhibitors called Show West, in Las Vegas. We would team up there with Bruce Willis, who had an interest in producing our movie. Bindi and I had been in Oregon for a few days, visiting family, and we planned to catch up with Steve in Las Vegas. But she and I had an ugly incident at the airport when we arrived. A Vegas lowlife approached us, his hat pulled down, big sunglasses on his face, and displaying some of the worst dentistry I’ve ever seen. He leered at us, obviously drunk or crazy, and tried to kiss me. I backed off rapidly and looked for Steve. I knew I could rely on him to take care of any creep I encountered. Then it dawned on me: The creep was Steve. In order to move around the airport without anyone recognizing him, he put on false teeth and changed his usual clothes. I didn’t recognize my own husband out of his khakis. I burst out laughing. Bindi was wide-eyed. “Look, it’s your daddy.” It took her a while before she was sure. Our Show West presentation featured live wildlife, organized wonderfully by Wes. Bruce Willis spoke. “I sometimes play an action hero myself,” he said, “but you’ll see that Steve is a real-life action hero.” Bindi brought a ball python out on stage. Backstage, she and Bruce hit it off. He has three daughters of his own, and he immediately connected with Bindi. They wound up playing with the lion cubs and the other animals that Wes had organized there.