Twenty years ago Buffy came into my life. A research facility that had been studying him returned him to the game farm where he had been born.

I knew little about Buffy's past except that he could not go to a zoo or be freed to the wild because his claws had been removed (I don't know why).

And I knew he'd probably be treated as a useless animal—and therefore killed—if left on the farm.

So I agreed to take the 20-pound, 16-week-old cub to my Montana home.

Before picking up my new baby, I read dozens of books on bears and got the state and federal licenses required to keep the animal. I spent $25,000 to build a sturdy chain-link pen around two sides of my house. I made Buffy a spring-fed pond, a playground and a den and gave him plenty of running room.

Finally, I was ready for anything—or so I thought!