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February 25, 2004 ~ A Lesson in Honesty and Love
Wednesday.
Dream rests in the sun after dinner
How to describe in words these wordless creatures who communicate in a language much more honest and direct than words?
There will be many lessons, I'm sure, but the first is true honesty. I consider myself to be an honest person--I refuse to tell even little white lies. But the depth of honesty that these wolves live by has humbled me. If I dislike someone, I will hide it. The wolves--if they don't like you, you will know. Humans, we hide our emotional extremes much of the time. Joy is usually bridled, anger suppressed, depression hidden. We "save face." We smile when we don't mean it. Wolves wear their emotions and mood in every aspect of their being--from their tails to their faces. I've much to learn from them.
The fact that my time at the wolf and wolf-dog Sanctuary is called "work" is still baffling to me. In such a short time, I have fallen hopelessly in love with these animals. I serve them on Sundays not out of obligation, but out of love. Throughout the week, they are close by in all of my thoughts. Their majestic forms tread softly through the back of my mind, I find myself smiling at remembered touching gestures, and those haunting eyes don't look away. I have learned so very much, in just two sessions, and I feel enriched by their presence.
On Sunday we arrived early to the Sanctuary and stayed all day until dusk. We scrubbed out the feed and water buckets, did a lot of construction work on a cabin / den that will be shelter for one of the packs, started work on another shelter for Dream and Ten Bears, fed the animals, buried an electrical cable so that it would run under the road and be unharmed by passing traffic, and most of all, socialized, played and bonded with the animals.
Maverick had been wary, at best, last time, but today he loved me. Rubbing up against his fence, begging for attention, tail down and ears to the sides, nuzzling me through the wire, licking my hands. Thor, the big, white, odd-eyed wolf-dog, shy last time, this time quietly attentive, giving me subtle signs of love, though still guarded, but coming to trust enough to lick my hands. Butkus and his still-puppy-like exuberance, slobbering all over me in his joy at my company, bigger than I am already though still not fully grown.
Noshi, a large white German shepherd / wolf, breaks my heart every time I pass his pen, for, at the sight of a human, even far off, he shakes with fear tremors, tail between his legs, whites of his eyes showing, crouched in the farthest corner of his pen, and sometimes looses control of his bladder. You know that some cruel human, not so long ago, beat the living crap out of him, kept him in a state of terror. All my pity goes out to that beautiful but horribly broken creature, and I walk quietly past, eyes averted, movements slow and calm.
There are too many animals like Noshi at the Sanctuary. Animals who have been starved, beaten, hated, abused, refused medical treatment, neglected, or trained for horrid purposes. Animals whose owners decided "wouldn't it be cool to own a wolf?!" then abandoned them when they realized that caring for a wolf or wolf-dog takes a great deal more work and devotion than caring for a normal dog, when they learned that wolves and wolf-dogs won't give their love and trust so readily as normal dogs do, when they found that beating them wouldn't usually work to train the wolf out of them, when they learned that wolves are far from guard dogs, don't bark, and will run rather than protect. Many there are wild, feral animals who should be running free, but there is no longer any place where they can safely do so. Between humans and wolves, far too many misunderstandings, stereotypes, and misperceptions abound.
But then there are wolves like Banjo.
Banjo giving me lovin's
Banjo was bottle fed by humans as a pup, and has spent all of his life around humans. The people who run the Sanctuary hope to use him as an educational outreach animal, in teaching people about wolves and wolf-dogs. Breaking down misperceptions.
Last time I had watched, impressed, as Banjo had jumped higher than my head without even really trying, and when we fed him this time, I couldn't help but think what short work he could make of my bones, as I listened to the bones in his dinner cracking in his powerful jaws. But, really, Banjo is one of the most loving and playful wolves there, and would never intentionally hurt one of his human friends. To him, we are just really weird looking wolves, and ever so much fun to play with.
Banjo is Butkus's brother, still under a year old, a huge, goofy, playful puppy. Morgan and I went into his and Yetti's pen and we wrestled and played with them both. They were overjoyed at all of the attention, running from person to person. I wrestled Banjo, laughing as he tried to push me down, licked my face, butted at my legs, and caught my hands and arms in his mouth and playfully bit and gnawed at them. (Love bites. Nothing serious. Though my hands were still sore two days later.) I tackled him and rolled him to his back, he grinned and squirmed as I gave his belly a vigorous rubbing.
And, yeah. I got my butt kicked, even if I technically "won." He's a wolf, what can I expect?
 
 
Banjo at play, later through the fence. Top left: a playful snarl. (This picture cracks me up.) Top right: Bite! He got me. (Ow.) Bottom left: This is the epitome of the wolf "play" face. Bottom right: scratchin's.
It was the most messy, enjoyable fun I'd had in a long, long time. I got muddy and exhausted, and loved every minute of it.
Yetti, just before she covered my face in wolf slobber.
Two teenage girls who were touring the Sanctuary came in the pen at one point, but they were pretty overwhelmed by Banjo and Yetti. At one point I had to pull Banjo off of one girl and divert his attention. (Yeah, here you go, chew on my arm instead. Good boy!) She was getting quite visibly scared, and, though he was just playing, it was becoming obvious that she wouldn't be able to tolerate much more of his rough-housing.
Unfortunately, as the girl was making a quick retreat from the pen a few minutes later, she didn't pay enough attention and Banjo slipped out behind her. We held Yetti back and stayed in the pen while L. went off to fetch Banjo back from the woods where he unconcernedly loped off to, as if he did it every day.
Yetti was extremely upset. Pacing back and forth, tension radiated from her. She watched the woods where Banjo had disappeared with an intense expression. All of the wolves, even though most of them had not seen what happened, immediately knew that Banjo was loose. Every single wolf in every single pen was pacing, some started up dominance fights, others started up a howl. The whole compound was pandemonium until two minutes later when L. came out of the woods walking a very submissive and apologetic Banjo on a lead, tail between his legs. (L. has a way with all of the animals that I am continuously extremely impressed by.)
Yetti was instantly relieved, until L. walked Banjo right past her pen and put him in with Maya instead (a move they had been considering). Anxiety shivered through poor Yetti, and she started her pacing with even more urgency. Meanwhile Maya seemed nervous but very interested, sniffing eagerly at Banjo. Banjo, though, completely ignored Maya, and started pacing in tandem with Yetti, both of them looking anxiously at each other through the two fences and across the twenty feet that separated them. Yetti started a slight whimper.
L. and N. conferred. "Okay. Look how upset they are. Obviously they've bonded. Look at her! She loves him. We can't separate them."
L. put Banjo back on the lead and said, "Well, Guess I won't be taking Yetti with me when I move away, as we'd planned."
Banjo and Yetti held a loving reunion, nuzzling and biting each other's muzzles. (An expression of affection, in wolf-speak).
Banjo and Yetti nuzzling each other after Banjo's return.
Don't even try to convince me that animals don't have emotions, and especially don't try to tell me that they don't feel love. To that, I say bullshit. It is painfully obvious that they do.
I gained the trust of one other wolf this weekend, who completely broke my heart in the process.
Dream
Dream is a majestic, beautiful, huge, black-phase wolf. She is old, very proud and dominant, and her eyes hold an almost frightening intelligence. I want to cry seeing an amazing animal like her stuck in a pen. She deserves to be the alpha female of a pack in the wild, leading hunts, playing with her pups, running free with her mate, Ten Bears, and keeping the rest of the pack in line. But instead, here she is, in a pen amongst humans. It brings a lump to my throat. But there is nowhere else for her.
"Dream hates most women," N. had said. "Especially women with long blonde hair. Be careful around her." Her previous owner, who had abused her, was a woman with long blonde hair. I could hardly blame her for the prejudice.
And I saw this hatred in action when one other volunteer, a woman with long blonde hair, walked by Dream's pen. Dream lunged against the fencing, tail up, ears back, and lips pulled back in a snarl to reveal her teeth. She looked like she wanted to go for the poor woman's neck.
However, Dream hadn't snarled or jumped up when I had walked by her pen. She had, in fact, given friendly signs that she'd like me to come closer. I decided to test our relationship a little further. I sat next to her pen, head down and eyes averted (meeting the eyes of a wolf is a challenge, not seen as friendly). I laid one hand against the wires of her pen, and just sat talking softly to her. "Hello Dream. Dream girl. Dream, hello. Oh Miss Dream. It's okay, Dream. Hello Dream."
She came to me almost immediately, a slight back and forth brush to her tail, which was down, Ears neutral, no curl to her lips, no tension in her back or legs. Her head still high. I continued to talk soothingly to her, watching for any signs of discomfort, fear or aggression, but she gave none, and that's when she nuzzled my hand. An invitation to give her scratchin's. I obliged, and before I knew it, she was rubbing up against me through the fence, letting me scratch her behind her ears and under her chin and down her back. She stuck her muzzle through the fence and licked my face. She started up a heartbreaking whimper when I walked away, and her open, honest affection touched me to my core.
Dream, bonding.
I have fallen head over heels in love with this beautiful, dangerous, awe-inspiring, powerful creature.
Dream is pure wolf. I know that she could seriously hurt me or even kill me if she decided to, and if I didn't manage to fend her off. Yet I feel no fear of her. Only awe. And respect. I don't dare enter her pen yet. To do so would be an intrusion on her space, and she may not be ready for that, yet. I want to give her plenty of time to get to know me.
I feel as if I have several complex relationships established already with many of the animals, and it's only been two weeks. I'm looking forward to finding what further contact will bring. I'm in love. Deeply in love.
And again, I marvel, "This is work?!" This is a calling. This is passion. This is helping and loving wolves who desperately need help and love. This is one small step in fulfilling my promise to the wolves. I couldn't stay away if I tried.
Note: All images in this entry were taken by Morgan, as I had my hands full.
Winner, Diarist Awards, 2004, Quarter One
"Outstanding Entry"
for
"A Lesson in Honesty and Love"
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