By Elizabeth Barhydt

The bear didn’t knock. He didn’t wait for an invitation. On a quiet Sunday afternoon in Greenwich, he strolled up the driveway of Leora Levy’s home, turned a bird feeder into what she later called “modern sculpture,” and stayed for three hours.

“It was just after two o’clock,” Levy recalled. “I was headed to meet my husband at our boat, the dogs already in the car with the engine running and the air conditioning blasting. I came out of the garage, closed the door, and there he was—right by the driver’s side of my car.”

One dog barked frantically from inside. Levy screamed, jumped into the passenger seat, and clambered over to the driver’s side. “The bear looked at me like I was crazy,” she said, “and walked up the back steps toward the kitchen door.”

What followed

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