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Show “*" f HOW APRIL 1995 TO TALK TO A OLF You cannot in, so says be forbidden the experience web that binds — Doris the you to the Lessing, small and brown and furry. The little wolf is very shy. He likes to come over into your yard, lay in the shade. He doesn’t like to be petted or held, but I. he asks, how did I get here, tell him that his father is a timber wolf and his mother an arctic wolf. That explains the thatch of white on his back, his long legs with the black stripe up the middle. It doesn’t explain the soft red part behind his ears Someone will ask, is he pure wolf? Stare blankly, murmur malamute, German shepherd, husky. Although he was bred in captivity, transported into the littke by town separated from his and from his pack consists of you, dog, your big red mate, the your where you want to anyway land of sensations, because he is so little and soft and warm. He nibbles your fingers, licks your hands. At first, the other dogs won’t play with him. He wants to play, but they, you grew up By Kris Edwards memories, landscape. “African Laughter,” 1992 persed, sold all over the country. His land, his territory, the four hundred square miles that the wolves travel was a pen, a chain link fence with a gravel floor. The neighbor's friend tells you to be careful, that when he gets big, he will eat your small white dog. You say, no, they are brothers. You ask him if he has a brother. neighbor you live, mother and father — his pack now your small white dog, your room- neighbor and his He will move along the needles where there is no snow. When it is time to come down, he will take the back way. You will think you have lost him, but he will be waiting for you at your house, when you get home. He will come to you if you give him bones and take him on hikes. He doesn’t like to ride in the car. When you first meet him, he is say, no. No, they exter- Indians, didn’t they put them all on a reservation? He wants to know if Yellowstone will become a big wolf reservation. He wants to know how it worked out with the Indians on the reservation. When he gets a little older, he falls in love with the girl next door. she is blonde, smaller than him, with a ruffley tail. She sits on her porch. He lays in her backyard all day and stares at her. Just lays there and stares. You bring him bones, try to take him on a hike, get him to come He looks at bones, then stares you, glances back at at her. He doesn’t move. He stays with her, watches her, brings her trash. At night, when he is tied on your back porch, right outside your bedroom, after it’s dark and you have gone to bed, he will howl. It comes again. You open your door so you can street, will curl up under the fir trees, in the you on a reservation once, move them off their land, put them all together the two raiding the trash cans, angering the neighbors. He will go with you up to the mountains. He will bury his nose in the berries and brush and growth along the way. He will not stay on the path, he will make his own. He will stay high up on the ridges. He the home. dogs; and even though his land, his territory is a quarter mile of concrete that is the road you live on, along with your backyard; even though his hunting is limited to attacks on the neighborhood trash cans, in spite of all this, he won't ask. He will go up to the ridge behind your house and lay in the sun. And minated all the wolves in the area, 40, 80, 100,000 of them. He says, no, the land, he’s talking about the transporting. He says growl when he gets too close. He curls into a ball, buries his head, then flips over, exposing his stomach and throat. You ask the neighbor where he got him. Oregon. Where, From you want a woman to know. who lives in the wild, with the wolves. Where? He shows you her card. It says her name. Under her name are the words “Shamanic Healer.” You stare at the card, at the letters. He tells you she keeps them in a big pen. She keeps them in a big pen, then sells them. His pack is disPAGE You bring him inside at night, he sleeps with you. He is very little. You have an outside door to your bedroom, so he can go in or out, which he does continuously, all night long. You read about the wolf re-introduction program in Yellowstone. You tell him about the crates and the helicopters and the collars and the radios and the tranquilizer guns and the holding pens and the ranchers and Bruce Babbit. He says, aren't the wolves in western Canada already migrating south. Won’t they come down, gradually, when its safe for them to be there? He says, didn’t they try this once, already? 18 hear better. He stops, looks at you. You untie him, try to coax him inside. He disappears _ through the snow. You hear him climbing up on the roof, settling up on the peak. You go outside again, stand on the ground, look up at him, up on the roof. You can feel the flannel of your pajamas against your skin. You pull your arms around you, breathe in the cold air. You stare up at him, try to look where he is looking. He does not look down. You watch him. Listen to him howl. You go back inside. @ Editor’s note: The author wishes to acknowledge Lorrie Moore, “How to Talk to Your Mother” Self Help, 1986; and Pam Houston, “How to Talk to a Hunter,” Cowboys are My Weakness, 1992. |
