Contents:

The Eagle by VSpen67816@aol.com
Why The Deer Is Meat submitted by jrp05@gnofn.org
Am I Warrior? by Malamute20@aol.com
A Wolf Story submitted by Riverwn@aol.com
Little Ondamitag submitted by greyowl@scsinternet.com

VSpen67816@aol.com

Too much pain, too much and for too long. The eagle can no longer see from two miles high. He circles and circles hoping for clarity. Then he glides downward and lands upon the dusty earth--a stranger bound by tears.

But time is a merciless friend. He is more unhappy here, here lost in a land too con- fining for his greater needs. For which is worse: To shun the tears that wash away the stinging sands of hurt or to weep for screaming wings which do no longer feel the upsurge of power and ancient strength? Oh no...He sees it now and close up: Sing on the wind. Cry in flight. Dip and swirl and turn in circles over the clouds, but fly he must for to be less than what he is is to spoil the grandeur of his noble heart.

Love the tears as you love the flowing waters. It is life's way of moving things on, past the present barriers and out to sea--to freedom.

Deer was very angry at Man. Man had been going around killing Deer very disrespectfully. Man killed every Deer he saw, when just one or two would be enough to feed his family for a while. He'd take only the best meat and leave the rest of the carcass to rot. Sometimes he wouldn't even take any meat, he just killed, just so. No one knew why Man was so crazy. Maybe because he was new. It had only been a little while Man was on the earth. The other creatures had been here practically forever.

So Deer decided to get rid of Man. Deer got together every kind of thing he could find, and made Man very sick with diseases that no one had ever seen before. Soon Man was falling down in great numbers just like he'd made Deer fall down. His rotting carcasses littered the ground just like he'd made Deer do. At this rate, thought Deer, there would soon be no more Man. It is justice, said Deer to himself...

But Bear did not think so. So he grabbed Deer and hauled him into the circle and held him there till he admitted what he had done and why. "It is justice..." said Deer.

"This Man is a new creature," said Bear. "He is a child, lacking wisdom. But Creator put him here and so it is not our place to get rid of him. Instead we must show him the right way to be."

"But he eats me!" said Deer.

"So what?" said Rabbit. "You think you're the only one who gets eaten?"

"You eat me, and then when you die you make me grow," said Grass.

Then many other animals spoke as well, of eating and being eaten, until all had spoken.

"Everything has a time to eat, and a time to be eaten," said Bear. "It has pleased the Creator to make life so." Then they all thought this over for a while, till the shadows got longer, and they all began to look at each other with hunger.

"You have put things out of balance," said Bear to Deer. "What will you do to make it right again?"

Deer thought very hard. It is one thing to get hold of every kind of thing he could find; it is another thing to scatter them again. This he could not do. Bear kept on looking at him, hard.

Finally Deer had an idea. "I cannot undo what I have done. But I can do this. Every kind of thing has a power from the Creator, to heal a disease. I will show Man how to use these things right. All I ask is that he use me right. Kill no more of my kind than he needs to eat. Use every part of me. Pray and do sacred things on the hunt that I will show him to do."

And so it was done, and still is done to this day.

(Adapted from an Iroquois story)

With all her big brothers and sisters off to school, our ranch became a lonely place for our three-year-old daughter, Becky. She longed for playmates. Cattle and horses were too big to cuddle and farm machinery dangerous for a child so small. We promised to buy her a puppy but in the meantime, "pretend" puppies popped up nearly every day.

I had just finished washing the lunch dishes when the screen door slammed and Becky rushed in, cheeks flushed with excitement. "Mama!" she cried. "Come see my new doggy! I gave him water two times already. He's so thirsty!"

I sighed. Another of Becky's imaginary dogs.

"Please come, Mama." She tugged at my jeans, her brown eyes pleading, "He's crying--- and he can't walk!"

"Can't walk?" Now that was a twist. All her previous make-believe dogs could do marvelous things. One balanced a ball on the end of its nose. Another dug a hole that went all the way through the earth and fell out on a star on the other side. Still another danced on a tightrope. Why suddenly a dog that couldn't walk?

"All right, honey," I said. By the time I tried to follow her, Becky had already disappeared into the mesquite. "Where are you?" I called.

"Over here by the oak stump. Hurry, Mama!"

I parted the thorny branches and raised my hand against the glare of the Arizona sun. A numbing chill gripped me. There she was, sitting on her heels, toes dug firmly in the sand, and cradled in her lap was the unmistakable head of a wolf! Beyond its head rose massive black shoulders. The rest of the body lay completely hidden inside the hollow stump of a fallen oak.

"Becky," My mouth felt dry. "Don't move." I stepped closer.

Pale-yellow eyes narrowed. Black lips tightened, exposing double sets of two-inch fangs. Suddenly the wolf trembled. Its teeth clacked, and a piteous whine rose from its throat.

"It's all right, boy," Becky crooned. "Don't be afraid. That's my mama, and she loves you, too."

Then the unbelievable happened. As her tiny hands stroked the great shaggy head, I heard the gentle thump, thump, thumping of the wolf's tail from deep inside the stump.

What was wrong with the animal? I wondered. Why couldn't he get up? I couldn't tell. Nor did I dare to step any closer. I glanced at the empty water bowl. My memory flashed back to the five skunks that last week had torn the burlap from a leaking pipe in a frenzied effort to reach water during the final agonies of rabies. Of course! Rabies! Warning signs had been posted all over the county, and hadn't Becky said, "He's so thirsty?"

I had to get Becky away. "Honey." My throat tightened. "Put his head down and come to Mama. We'll go find help."

Reluctantly, Becky got up and kissed the wolf on the nose before she walked slowly into my outstretched arms. Sad yellow eyes followed her. Then the wolf's head sank to the ground.

With Becky safe in my arms, I ran to the barns where Brian, one of our cowhands, was saddling up to check heifers in the north pasture.

"Brian! Come quickly. Becky found a wolf in the oak stump near the wash! I think it has rabies!"

"I'll be there in a jiffy," he said as I hurried back to the house, anxious to put Becky down for her nap. I didn't want her to see Brian come out of the bunkhouse. I knew he'd have a gun.

"But I want to give my doggy his water," she cried. I kissed her and gave her some stuffed animals to play with. "Honey, let Mom and Brian take care of him for now," I said.

Moments later, I reached the oak stump. Brian stood looking down at the beast. "It's a Mexican lobo, all right." he said, "and a big one!" The wolf whined. Then we both caught the smell of gangrene.

"Whew! It's not rabies," Brian said. "But he's sure hurt real bad. Don't you think it's best I put him out of his misery?"

The world "yes" was on my lips, when Becky emerged from the bushes. "Is Brian going to make him well, Mama?" She hauled the animal's head onto her lap once more, and buried her face in the coarse, dark fur. This time I wasn't the only one who heard the thumping of the lobo's tail.

That afternoon my husband, Bill, and our veterinarian came to see the wolf. Observing the trust the animal had in our child, Doc said to me, "Suppose you let Becky and me tend to this fella together." Minutes later, as child and vet reassured the stricken beast, the hypodermic found its mark. The yellow eyes closed.

"He's asleep now," said the vet. "Give me a hand here, Bill." They hauled the massive body out of the stump. The animal must have been over five feet long and well over one-hundred pounds. The hip and leg had been mutilated by bullets. Doc did what he had to in order to clean the wound and then gave the patient a dose of penicillin. Next day he returned and inserted a metal rod to replace the missing bone.

"Well, it looks like you've got yourselves a Mexican lobo," Doc said. "He looks to be about three years old, and even as pups, they don't tame real easy. I"m amazed at the way this big fella took to your little gal. But often there's something that goes on between children and animals that we grownups don't understand."

Becky named the wolf Ralph and carried food and water to the stump every day. Ralph's recovery was not easy. For three months he dragged his injured hindquarters by clawing the earth with his front paws. From the way he lowered his eyelids when we massaged the atrophied limbs, we knew he endured excruciating pain, but not once did he ever try to bite the hands of those who cared for him.

Four months to the day, Ralph finally stood unaided. His huge frame shook as long-unused muscles were activated. Bill and I patted and praised him. But it was Becky to whom he turned for a gentle word, a kiss or a smile. He responded to these gestures of love by swinging his busy tail like a pendulum.

As his strength grew, Ralph followed Becky all over the ranch. Together they roamed the desert pastures, the golden-haired child often stooping low, sharing with the great lame wolf whispered secrets of nature's wonders. When evening came, he returned like a silent shadow to his hollow stump that had surely become his special place. As time went on, although he lived primarily in the brush, the habits of this timid creature endeared him more and more to all of us.

His reaction to people other than our family was yet another story. Strangers terrified him, yet his affection for and protectiveness of Becky brought him out of the desert and fields at the sight of every unknown pickup or car. Occasionally he'd approach, lips taut, exposing a nervous smile full of chattering teeth. More often he'd simply pace and finally skulk off to his tree stump, perhaps to worry alone.

Becky's first day of school was sad for Ralph. After the bus left, he refused to return to the yard. Instead, he lay by the side of the road and waited. When Becky returned, he limped and tottered in wild, joyous circles around her. This welcoming ritual persisted throughout her school years.

Although Ralph seemed happy on the ranch, he disappeared into the surrounding deserts and mountains for several weeks during the spring mating season, leaving us to worry about his safety. This was calving season, and fellow ranchers watched for coyotes, cougars, wild dogs and, of course, the lone wolf. But Ralph was lucky.

During Ralph's twelve years on our ranch, his habits remained unchanged. Always keeping his distance, he tolerated other pets and endured the activities of our busy family, but his love for Becky never wavered. Then the spring came when our neighbor told us he'd shot and killed a she-wolf and grazed her mate, who had been running with her. Sure enough, Ralph returned home with another bullet wound.

Becky, nearly fifteen years old now, sat with Ralph's head resting on her lap. He, too, must have been about fifteen and was gray with age. As Bill removed the bullet, my memory raced back through the years. Once again I saw a chubby three-year-old girl stroking the head of a huge black wolf and heard a small voice murmuring, "It's all right, boy. Don't be afraid. That's my mama, and she loves you, too."

Although the wound wasn't serious, this time Ralph didn't get well. Precious pounds fell away. The once luxurious fur turned dull and dry, and his trips to the yard in search of Becky's companionship ceased. All day long he rested quietly.

But when night fell, old and stiff as he was, he disappeared into the desert and surrounding hills. By dawn his food was gone.

The morning came when we found him dead. The yellow eyes were closed. Stretched out in front of the oak stump, he appeared but a shadow of the proud beast he once had been. A lump in my throat choked me as I watched Becky stroke his shaggy neck, tears streaming down her face. "I'll miss him so," she cried.

Then as I covered him with a blanket, we were startled by a strange rustling sound from inside the stump. Becky looked inside. Two tiny yellow eyes peered back and puppy fangs glinted in the semi-darkness. Ralph's pup!

Had a dying instinct told him his motherless offspring would be safe here, as he had been, with those who loved him? Hot tears spilled on baby fur as Becky gathered the trembling bundle in her arms. "It's all right, little Ralphie," she murmured. "Don't be afraid. That's my mom, and she loves you, too."

greyowl@scsinternet.com(greyowl)

Little Ondamitag loved to race the wind on the backs of horses. His long dark hair flying behind him, his pony in a steady gallop and while he rode he dreamt of one day being a great hunter. He would ride throughout the days, and sometimes would stop to hunt small game for his Mother.

One day while riding, his pony tripped on a groundhog hole and it flipped the pair into the air. Little Ondamitag broke his foot as he landed upon it. The two laid there for hours before they were found. When they brought Ondamitag home, they laid him upon a soft bed and his Mother and the Medicine Man looked at his leg. They wrapped it and he was told to stay off the leg for a few days while it healed.

In the meantime, it was the time for the villagers to travel south for the winter. Along the way, they came across a large wooden building where no one was living. They knew that it had been created by the white traders and decided to use this building as a winter lodge. It was nice and much warmer than the wigwam they had lived in.

In the spring, the door was left open and Little Ondamitag would sit just inside learning from the Elders, making arrows, taking care of small things for himself and one day a bird flew in stopping just inside the doorway. Ondamitag broke up some of his frybread and tossed it before him. Soon the bird began eating and Ondamitag watched it. Daily she came to Ondamitag and daily he fed her. One day, when she was in eating, the male bird came and stood just outside the door and called to the female. She stayed and pecked at the food a few moments and then left.

This happened every day and she began to leave sooner and sooner and soon she did not show up at all. Ondamitag began to worry about her and made his way outside to see if he could find her.

"What are you looking for Son?

"I am looking for the bird that comes to sing for me in the lodge"

"That is a spirit bird Son, come to help you forget the time you are to be down."

"No Father, it is a real bird."

Nonetheless, Ondamitag sat there and watched. The following morning was the beginning of a beautiful new day and while the dew was still on the ground Ondamitag made his way outside to watch for his song bird. His Father came out and just as he reached the area where Ondamitag was Ondamitag pointed, "Look Father, there is my Song Bird!!!" And they watched as the bird and her mate flew around the trees and then towards the building. They went towards the lodge to see where the birds had gone and could not find them anywhere.

The Father was looking in and about the crevices and in the log stack and still could not find them. The two decided to go into the fire to find what they could to eat and as they neared the door, the old shirt which the white traders had left hanging there moved. Ondamitag went to the shirt to see what was making it move and it turned out that there was a pocket where the birds had made a nest and she was sitting on eggs.

Ondamitag was delighted that he found her and her family. Throughout the summer, he watched as the song bird taught her babies to fly, to eat, to watch for insects and in the fall she and her family flew away but Ondamitag was not saddened this time as he knew that she was alright. And she too, knew, that Ondamitag could now walk and all was well.

THE END