FREE AT LAST


I stood and watched, tears streaming down my face. The old man sauntered down the street, our beloved German Shepherd/Wolf, Cheyenne, trotting by his side.


"Did she have to go so willingly?" I sobbed.


"It's better for her," my husband soothed.


Cheyenne had always loved to go for a walk. As soon as she heard the leash tinkle, she'd been anxious to leave.


"But she doesn't know she isn't coming back," I wailed.


"Don't be too sure." My husband drew me into his arms. "She's a smart dog."


Memories of the day we got Cheyenne came to mind. We had seen a sign that said "Puppies For Sale," on the front lawn of a house not far from where we lived. We had stopped to see what kind of pups they were. We were surprised to find that the mother was a pure bred wolf, brought to our area from a remote area of northern Ontario.


There were 8 pups in the litter. My husband had wanted the one that seemed to domineer the others. I will never forget the day we brought her home. She was fat and ugly - almost black. One ear had stood straight up, while the other drooped lazily. Within an hour, she had wet on the kitchen floor. I'd rubbed her nose in it and set her none too gently outside. It had never happened again in four years, except once just after she'd been spayed.


Aware that she had little control because of the surgery, I hadn't scolded. Cheyenne had whined and cried, embarrassed by her actions. I'd sat on the floor beside her. With her head on my lap, I'd stroked her soft fur and spoke gentle words of comfort. Finally, she'd settled down and licked my hand.


As Cheyenne grew, she slimmed down. Her color changed. Her chest was almond, turning to shades of brown on the sides, with a black saddle. Her snout and neck was pure white. She was a beauty with her own distinct personality.


Cheyenned stayed forever a puppy. Even as she matured, she would run, tail wagging to welcome visitors. She seldom barked and never growled. I was awed by her gentle ways. I had grown up on a farm and had worked with many dogs. Never had I met one like Cheyenne. Many times I marveled at her depth of understanding.


One night when my husband was at work, one of the men he worked with dropped by. When I opened the door, Cheyenne trotted through the living room and stood by my side. I noticed at the time that her stance was somewhat stiff. Her ears were up, tail down. I had never seen her take that particular position before.


Wary of her intentions, I slipped my fingers under her collar. Then, I heard it - the rumble deep in her throat. I tightened my hold on her and spoke to her. Though she stopped growling, she put her head down and crouched.


Calmly I told the man that my husband was working overtime. He looked at me strangely. "I'll just come in and wait," he said.


As he tried to push his way past me, Cheyenne lunged, pulling me after her. I was no match for 105 pounds of angry dog. Her vicious snarls made my blood run cold. I braced my body and pulled her back.


"I think you should go," I said, realizing he was intoxicated.


After he left, I patted Cheyenne's head and hugged her neck. I had only seen this man once before, but his actions made me wonder what his intentions had been. If Cheyenne hadn't wanted him in the house, she certainly had just cause. She loved visitors and welcomed them with sparkling eyes and wagging tail. The thoughts of what this man might have done if she hadn't been there made shivers run up my spine.


When my husband came home, I told him of our visitor. The man had known all along that my husband was working. He had definitely came to the house for something other than my husband's companionship. Months later, we found out this man was wanted by police in another province. Cheyenne had saved me from a terrifying ordeal.


Cheyenne and I spent many happy hours together. We played ball, went to the park and spent many nights with her curled at my feet while I read or watched TV. This would have been a lonely time for me if it hadn't been for her. My husband often worked nights. We lived in a quiet neighborhood, but Cheyenne's presence was comforting. I knew without a doubt that she would gladly have given her life for me.


The following summer, I was in an auto accident. My injuries were severe. Not once did Cheyenne leave my side while I was recuperating. Unfortunately, financial problems arose and we were forced to move. Cheyenne couldn't go.


After Cheyenne left with the old man, I cried for a week. She'd been my friend, my companion and my protector. I felt as if someone had ripped my heart out.


A few months later, I was busy upstairs in my new apartment. Someone knocked loudly on the door. When I opened it, a brown streak leaped at me. Large paws hit my chest. A tongue lapped my face. I was ecstatic. It was Cheyenne and her master.


"How did you know where we lived?" I asked in wonder.


"She knew. We were walking by and she recognized the car. Raised such a fuss, I had to see if it was really yours.


"I'm glad you did," I said. And I meant every word.


That day, we arranged for Cheyenne to come for visits every other Saturday. The old man would chat with my husband while Cheyenne and I went for a walk or played ball in the yard. The bond that had been broken was soon firmly in place once again.


Though the old man died two years later, i was able to keep track of Cheyenne. She now lives in the country with a couple and their four children.


I no longer get to visit her but twice a year, spring and fall, I phone to see how she is doing. In winter, she pulls the children in a sled and in summer, she patrols the property and bounds through the fields.


Even after seven years, I think of her often. When I do, a tear rolls down my cheek. I swipe it away and chastise myself for being so selfish. After all, she no longer has to spend hours on a chain or be controlled by a leash.


Sometimes I close my eyes and can see her running after rabbit, bounding across a field. Then I smile, knowing I did the right thing by letting her go. She's free at last.



Copyright (c) 1999 - 2000 by Mary M. Alward


Update:


Though Cheyenne was part Wolf, I have never had the pleasure of knowing an animal that was more gentle and loving. When I ran across this background at Wolfsong, I thought for a moment that it was a picture of Cheyenne. Though she seldom barked, if she was unhappy, she would tip her head back and howl. This behavior was usually when we left her. My neighbor told us that Cheyenne would howl when we were gone for a long period of time. Obviously her way of venting her displeasure that the pack was missing.


Though I loved Cheyenne dearly, I don't recommend people capturing wolf pups to raise as pets. These animals belong in the wild where they are able to run, hunt and live with their own kind. Here, they are born free and remain free.

This page is dedicated to our loving and loyal pet. Cheyenne, we miss you.

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