Flowers bowed their heads to the ground as Bernard trod upon them. A few of their stems snapped under his feet. Around him, animals celebrated spring's return. The underbrush was teeming with young rodents scouting out locations to dig burrows of their own. Some birds sang to find love while others chirped to their featherless children.

The singing was enjoyable for maybe fifteen minutes, but Bernard soon ended up flattening his ears against his head in a futile attempt to block out the noise. The only thing more persistent than the feathered choir was Bernard's constantly growling stomach.

Bernard's nose was overloaded by all of the pollen drifting through the air. Every step he took sent up clouds of the stuff. It was only by investigating the ground around trees that the squirrels of the area frequented that he managed to catch a whiff of a stash of acorns. He scarfed down the nuts he dug up so quickly that he nearly choked on them, yet his stomach remained unsatisfied.

Surrounded by enough shades of green to make him feel like it was St. Patrick's Day, Bernard searched in vain for the telltale browns of mushrooms poking out from under logs. Besides the ever-present tree trunks, few plants broke the green monotony.

After searching all morning, Bernard spotted specks of red out of the corner of his eye. He trotted over to give them a closer look.

Clusters of berries dangled from a shrub whose branches drooped under their weight. The shrub's spines stood out, threatening to stab anyone who ventured too close to the plant. The last time he had seen anything like it had been years ago, back when his father had first started taking him on longer hikes. That day had been one of the only times his father had ever yelled at him.

He had gone from being perfectly tranquil to yelling so loudly that he had made Bernard cry in an instant as he slapped the bright red berries from his hands. Just thinking about the way his father had screamed was enough to make Bernard pause before approaching the shrub. It had taken hours for his dad to calm him down after that. He had been trembling so violently that his dad had carried him back to their tent to make sure he wouldn't trip over anything.

That day had been one of the few times his father had ever looked scared. He hadn't let Bernard out of his sight for the rest of the trip.

His father had done his best to teach him about the different kinds of plants in the woods after that. He had taught him how to identify the mushrooms, nuts, and berries that were safe for humans to eat. Certain poisonous plants like the devil's club that Bernard had found that day could be safely eaten by bears and other wildlife. In fact, his dad had said that grizzlies loved them.

Bernard stretched forward, ignoring the needles that pricked his muzzle, and plucked the largest bunch of berries he could find. As he withdrew his head from the shrub, one heavily swollen berry burst inside his mouth and spread a wave of sweetness across his tongue. The other berries in the cluster tasted as wonderful as the first.

By the time Bernard finished eating all of the devil's club's berries, his muzzle was covered in bright red stains, not all of which were from the berries. Specks of blood dotted Bernard's muzzle where the plant's spines had poked him.

Despite how much he had eaten, Bernard's stomach kept growling.

As a cardinal flew past him, Bernard considered his options. An abundance of nests lay cradled between the branches of the trees that surrounded him. A handful of them contained hatchlings that screeched for food as their parents searched for insects nearby. Other nests were still under construction. Their owners wove twigs, leaves, and feathers together in the hopes of creating the perfect home.

The nests themselves didn't concern Bernard. The empty ones held nothing of interest to him, and he would never touch a nest with chicks in it. The eggs were what caught his eye.

Although most of them rested out of reach, it shouldn't be too hard to shake their nests free. Their parents certainly couldn't stop him. What would they do, peck him to death? Assuming the fall didn't break the eggs' shells, he could always smack them against some rocks. Then he would have their delicious yolks all to himself.

Bernard targeted one of the nests that lay between a pair of low-lying branches. He reared up on his hind paws and gave one of the branches an experimental tap. The eggs inside rocked slightly.

Before Bernard could react, a screeching flurry of feathers dove straight into his face. He swatted at it as it battered him with its wings. He finally managed to scare it off by swatting at it and nicking its wing with a claw.

The bird shrieked as it fled. A feather drifted onto Bernard's head as its former owner flew away. He huffed in agitation. Since when were birds so bold?

Other birds were observing him now, peering at him as they delivered worms, insects, and other creepy crawlies to their children. He got the feeling they would try to peck his eyes out if he tried to get any of their eggs.

How could he raid a nest with all of the creatures in the vicinity staring at him as if he were a criminal? For all he knew, they might mob him if he so much as moved a stick out of place. Eggs seemed about as alive as rocks to him, but the birds didn't share his opinion.

Bernard's stomach screamed at him, but his conscience yelled louder. If that feathered fiend's reaction was anything to go by, then making eggs smash onto the ground was about as morally sound as attacking babies.

He couldn't do it. As much as his mouth watered at the thought of some much needed protein, he couldn't do it. There was no way he would stoop that low.

That left only one alternative that Bernard could think of. He dug his paws into the dirt and flung away a small scoopful to expose a handful squirming worms. Was he seriously going to do this? His stomach churned at the thought, but what choice did he have? He needed something to fill the aching hollowness in his stomach long enough for him to find a more palatable food source.

Bernard shoveled away the worms' shelter as they tried to burrow out of reach. Resisting the urge to gag, he squeezed his eyes shut. He just had to pretend that they were spaghetti. They were just noodles covered in a new sauce his mother was experimenting with. That was it. That's what he was eating, not night crawlers.

Forbidding himself from thinking about the slimy texture, Bernard slurped up the worms. He felt their every move as the living noodles twisted and turned inside his mouth before sliding down his throat. The less he thought about whether or not they would still be alive when they reached his stomach, the better.