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February 16, 2004 ~ Meeting the Wolves
Monday.
Yesterday, Morgan and I parked under the huge rhododendrons and climbed the long icy drive in the falling snow. We had traveled far up into the mountains and were now well above 3,000 feet. What had been rain in Asheville was quickly accumulating snow at this elevation. As the thick rhododendron woods to the left drew back into a clearing, I saw them, past a few trees--wolves and wolf-dogs, pacing, sniffing the air, watching us. Some jumped against their fencing, inviting us closer, others slinked away. Some, who had more dog in them, barked.
As we walked on toward the cabin, a few in that upper compound started up a howl. Moments later a few from the lower compound joined in, and soon every animal at the sanctuary had added his or her voice to the howl. I shivered as over thirty voices joined together in that eerie, haunting howling, which seemed to roll across the little valley and bounce off of the surrounding mountains. I turned to Morgan and saw a look of awe that I knew was mirrored in my own face. They were loud. And so beautiful.
We knocked on the cabin door. N. greeted us and brought us inside. L. was sitting at the table, de-boning chicken in preparation for the afternoon feeding. They were discussing what to do about the dead opossum in one of the wolf pens. "That was one stupid opossum, just walking in with all those wolves."
Volunteering at this rescue, we don't have a set task; we just help with whatever needs to be done at the time. Six five-gallon buckets needed to be filled with de-boned chicken. Wolves and wolf-dogs can't get the nutrition they need from normal dog food or kibble alone; they need a large amount of meat to supplement their diet. While L. and N. went out to distract the wolves while they confiscated the dead opposum to be tested for rabies, Morgan and I set to work, bringing packages of out-of-date leg-quarters that had been donated by a local retailer in from the huge garbage can on the porch, emptying them into a bucket, bagging the empty packages. Then we'd set to work separating the flesh from the bones, being careful not to let even the smallest bones enter the feed bucket.
It was slow, but methodical work. Though I don't eat meat, I've never been the sort to be averse to handling it, even if it is out of date and somewhat sketchy. In fact, I was somewhat surprised to realize that I found the constant soft, wet sound of meat being pulled off of leg and thigh bones oddly relaxing. We talked idly as we worked, and occasionally the wolves would start up another group howl that seeped into the tiny cabin from all sides. Gussie, an all-white wolf-dog, sat curled in a crate behind the kitchen table, and tolerated us, but growled when one of the house-dogs came near.
About two hours later, as we were working on the fourth five-gallon bucket, it was decided that today the meat could be mixed with kibble, as the de-boning was taking far too long with only three people. After we finished filling that bucket, while N. and L. made the mixture of chicken, sausage, and kibble, Morgan and I bundled up so that I could go out to the lower compound and meet the animals there before feeding.
All of the animals at the sanctuary have been in captivity their entire lives, but that does not mean that they are at all docile or domestic. Add to that the fact that a majority of them had been neglected, abused, or beaten by their previous owners. Some of them do not trust or care for humans at all. A few of them are still quite wild and feral, and all of them should be approached with caution and respect. Though many of them have dog in their genes, they are not dogs. They do not behave like dogs, and they do not have the stability and predictability of dogs. Every time you approach one, you do so slowly and carefully. They, through their subtle and complex body language will either invite you or tell you to go away. And you deserve to be bit or snarled at or thrown to the ground if you are not observant enough to listen to what they are saying.
And a bite or pounce or snarl from one of these huge, magnificent creatures is a very serious matter.
Most of the wolves and wolf-dogs I greeted through the wires of their enclosures. Most were quite excited to see me, sniffed me with eager curiosity, and begged for scratchin's through the wires. Maverick, though, gave mixed signals, wagging his tail and acting curious, but giving off a low growl. We let him be. One poor wolf-dog was scared senseless of us, tail between his legs, shaking, crouched in the farthest corner of his pen looking at us with wide eyes. We spoke in soothing voices, didn't look at him, and slid by without stopping.
At Delaware and Cheyenne's pen, we stopped at the door to talk to them, let Delaware (a large high-content male) sniff and lick at us, then we stepped inside the pen. He was ecstatic, running between the two of us, nuzzling at my hand, licking me. Such thick, soft, warm fur. I gave him a nice long scratch behind the ears and under his chin, and he enjoyed every minute of it. Snow coated the fur on his back, but with that thick coat, it didn't bother him a bit.
Cheyenne, meanwhile, was running circles around the little house shelter in her excitement. I approached her speaking softly, and she leapt to the top of the house and invited me over. After a careful sniffing, she rubbed against my hands lovingly, and I gave her lots of scratchin's as well. She jumped down from the house, pressed her face up against my thigh, and would not leave my side. Meanwhile, Delaware took me by surprise and jumped up, paws against my chest, nearly knocking me over (he seems to weigh more than I do). Face to face with me, he licked my cheek, dropped back to all-fours, and begged for more scratchings. Good heavens! A wolf just licked my face!
I cannot describe in words how incredible it feels to be accepted by one of these animals.
It was feeding time, and we made the rounds with L. and N., helping where we could. (Watching the wolves eat gives a hearty respect and caution for those teeth, let me tell ya.)
At the upper compound were a lot of the high-content and less domesticated animals. I was transfixed by a pair named Dream and Ten Bears. Dream was humongous, and both looked to be full-blooded black-phase wolves. A wolf named Banjo was extremely excited that it was feeding time. I stood on the other side of his wire and watched as he jumped about his pen in his excitement. He was jumping higher than my head. If this is just excitement, I wonder how high he can jump when he's actually trying to jump to something, I thought.
As we gave one of the low-content wolf-dogs out front of the cabin some lovin's and play time, talking with N. before we left about future times to come by and projects to work on, one of the house dogs snuck off up the hill and disappeared into the forest.
"God damn it," N. seethed. "Damned stupid dog. Give me a wolf any day."
Aye. Give me a wolf any day.
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