Grim's Hall

Canis:

For reasons entirely unrelated to my intentions, I spent the majority of the day with dogs. Dogs, and one noble cousin.

I was supposed to have dinner with a business associate, but on the way she was diverted to assist in an emergency with a dog charity group for whom she does volunteer work. This is All Breed Rescue and Referral. The dogs, it seems, were escaping, and they needed help fixing the electrical fence.

Just why they called her for this is not immediately clear to me. She's a wonderful, good-hearted and cheerful young woman. She isn't, however, a country girl -- a fact that became immediately clear at the feed & seed on the way out to the kennel, where she was trying to buy parts for the electrical fence. It's no dishonor to have grown up in the suburbs and not know anything about electrical fences; and she was therefore not dishonored.

Still, by coincidence she happened to be with me when the call came in, and I've worked on plenty. I grew up in North Georgia's cattle country. My family had an electrical fence; my neighbors had them; our friends had them. So, I figured we could pick up the needed supplies on the way and a pair of blue jeans for me, as I was wearing my office clothes -- but also cowboy boots, so no need for extra shoes -- and fix up whatever the trouble was in about an hour.

The "about an hour" thing didn't work out. I won't go into the details, but it took at least four hours to take care of all the details involved in the exercise, and that isn't what I wanted to write about anyway. What I wanted to write about was the wolf.

His name is Tundra. His back is as high as the top of my hip, and his head stops about the top of my armpit. He is a pure white, as are the white wolves of the high tundra. I don't know that he is an arctic wolf, though; he could be an Eastern Timberwolf with a rare coloration. He has the yellow eyes characteristic of his kin.

I was warned on the way in that I might have to fight him off. Apparently he can be aggressive. In fact, he tried to knock me down twice as I walked in, once from each side. The first time I knocked him down; the second, I just nudged him off. After that, he was perfectly peaceful. He followed me much of the afternoon, just at the heel, and often licked at my hand and let me pet him when I wasn't working.

This gives the lie to almost everything I've ever heard about wolves. I don't know if he is an exception, or if I've simply been misinformed. I've always heard that wolves in captivity are quite dangerous and a little unstable, being wild animals. And it's true that the head of the rescue organization warned her assistant a time or two to keep him separate from some of the other animals, lest he kill them.

Even so, what a fine beast, and what noble eyes. It is easy to see how we came to befriend them, once upon a time in the morning of the world.