| December 12: "This morning, the wolf's fifth day in the clearing, it seemed time to take him another deer. He didn't seem to have as much energy as he's had; there wasn't much vigor in the way he would shake and stretch. He had been spending most of his time lying down, and at times appeared to be coughing. Even if the old deer carcass had some meat left, it would surely be getting hard to reach. "Until now, we'd tried to stay out of sight, wanting him to feel comfortable about staying with this easy food source. Now I stood in front of the house where he could see me, hoping that somehow he would be used to us. He must have had glimpses and smells of us over the past several days. But no. He got night up and hurried into the woods, looking back over his shoulder at me. I skidded the deer down and retreated, but he hasn't returned." December 13: "The wolf is back. He's eaten a little, but has spent most of the day lying between the two carcasses at the center of the clearing. He makes no effort to fend off the ravens, and they are all over both deer." Near sunset of that day he was gone. Ten hours later we were confronted by his face pressed against our window. As we stood gaping, too astonished for the moment to do anything, we saw the wolf's nose once more thump hard against the glass before the face withdrew from the circle of light. We heard crunching steps in the snow at the corner of the house, then silence. Was he gone? We scraped a hole in the frost on the south window and again found ourselves trading stares with the wolf. The roof of our pit-style greenhouse is attached to the house just below the south window. The wolf had climbed a snowdrift onto the greenhouse and now sat leaning against the window and looking back over his shoulder at us. Now came a flurry of activity: getting together chicken leftovers, gravy, butter, and hot water, slipping on our parkas, and hurrying out to see what the wolf wanted. Gary tossed the chicken onto the greenhouse roof and pushed the gravy pan up to him with a snow shovel. I stood behind Gary with the flashlight, the backup person. We didn't think a normal wolf would attack a person, but this wolf was doing something we had never heard of a wolf doing. We didn't know what to expect. The wolf just watched, looking alertly first at us, then at the food. Now another flurry, this time of indecision. Was he hypothermic? Did he want to come in? Should he? How could we get him in, anyway? We certainly couldn't just leave him there, this wolf we had watched and been concerned about all week. On that still, moonless night, the temperature was twenty-five degrees below zero. Surely it would help to get him into a warmer place. Gary got a blanket, went along the edge of the greenhouse behind the wolf, and threw it across the animal's back. The wolf jumped, then settled down. It looked as if it might be possible to catch him. So I went up to the shed to get the stove going, thinking that the shed might be the place for him, and Gary got the old green quilt. By the time I got back to the house, Gary was coming around the corner carrying a blanket-draped bundle. He had thrown the quilt over the wolf and, getting no adverse reaction, had tucked it around the animal and pulled him across the slippery roof to the edge. He had looked under to see where the wolf was, covered him again, and scooped him up into his arms. The shed was forgotten. I opened the door, and Gary carried him inside. Beginning to lose his grip, he just made it to the living room and eased the wolf to the floor. He lifted the blanket and stepped back. The wolf looked around in a dazed kind of way. Twenty-five minutes after the knocks on the window he was inside. |
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| NOW WHAT? First, get Tom. He is our good friend and neighbor, our only neighbor within twelve miles, and we knew he would want to be in on this. I set out on snowshoes for the half-mile trek, welcoming the chance to try to absorb the events of the night. In the starlight the trail was only faintly visible. The cold that tore at my lungs was making the trees pop, the only sound that broke the silence. A meteor shot toward the horizon, where the dark form of Tom's cabin loomed. |
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