As humans we have the capacity to be both predator and
prey. Vegetarian or not, I promise you, get a good hunger started
in your belly and cute and fuzzy things will look much less like companions
and much more like corndogs. I've looked at squirrels that way and
they can tell. Generally they are indifferent or curious, but when I'm
real hungry…they keep back.
Just as animals that were once our prey can see my hunger and my intent
in my eyes, we can see the same in animals that were once our competitors
or our predators.
I remember my first time face to face with a lion. At one moment
the gigantic thing was obviously concentrating very hard on a nearby leaf
that had fluttered across his vision. They are, after all, still
cats, still curious and cute. The next moment the lion locked eyes
with me and my knees weakened. I knew what the squirrel felt like
under my hungry gaze; to that lion, I was the corndog.
This is, in part, why I was so frightened last week when I was slated
to meet two full grown, full blood, gray wolves. I've met wolf-dogs
before and felt a shadow of that fear. Wolf-dogs are not pets, nor
are they truly companions; they are entirely independent beings living
in a world in which they don't belong.
Mission: Wolf, the organization responsible for my wolf meeting, exists
to protect wolves born in captivity, and to educate people about wild
and caged wolves in the Unites States. There are around 4000 living
in the wild in the lower 48, and around 250,000 wolves and wolf-dog hybrids
live in captivity, most of which will die in their second year. Mission:
Wolf rescues wolves that have been bred in captivity and educates people
of all ages about carnivores and related issues with the Ambassador Wolf
program, which I was attending.
I wasn't sure what form this wolf interaction would take, but I assumed
that there would be something between the wolves and I; a cage probably,
or maybe a few hundred yards.Thirty minutes into the presentation the
only thing between my teeth and a wolf's tongue was our shared saliva.
Earlier Kent Weber, the founder of Mission: Wolf, was telling the group
how to act around the wolves. "Magpie won't be satisfied until
she's really able to lick your teeth, this is how all wolves greet each
other," he instructed. Also, "Wolves play by chewing on
each other's heads, so try not to play with them." And third,
"I usually like to have a back door in a conference room, just in
case something goes wrong, but we'll sorta be trapped in here."
As comforting as all of this was, I wasn't really ready when the wolves
sauntered into the room. Their leashes were thick and I trusted
that I was not being put into danger, but the wolves' heads hung low as
they entered and their powerful legs and gigantic feet pushed them smoothly
making them seem wary of the situation and ready to defend themselves.
But soon after they entered our circle of people they suddenly seemed
understand our intentions and they lifted their heads with interest and
relief. They approached each individual, pushed snout to mouth,
peered deeply into each individual soul, and then licked some teeth. The
breath of wolves has no sent, and their tongues are
like sandpaper. My mouth felt cleaner after the greeting than beforehand.
I was not comfortable gazing into those deep yellow eyes, but neither
was I frightened. Wolves and people evolved together across the
northern hemisphere, sharing in life and death with mutual respect and
interest. We were sometimes competitors and sometimes companions,
but never hunted each other specifically for food. What I saw in
Raven's eyes was a marvelously strange sort of person, and what she saw
was a marvelously strange sort of wolf. Neither saw a lion, neither
saw a corndog.
For a full year I wrote a weekly column for a daily paper in Boulder CO. I wrote about being young, poor and green, and the column was widely loved throughout the city. It remains one of the most rewarding things I've ever done.
If you've got some time on your hands...check 'em out.
Colder than the Hinges of Hell
Four More Ounces of Responsibility