Mother Wolf

Life for Split Sir in Alaska

            I looked through my lightly snow-coated window to see the mother wolf sitting on my lawn. The white snow fell slowly outside and I felt the icy breeze of winter blow through my log cabin. The mother wolf sat and bared the full brunt of the frozen wind as she licked her fresh wounds. Her blood pooled around her haunches and she did her best to stop the bleeding. Her left side received the majority of injuries; I judged by the areas of claw marks and lost fur. But she dealt with her wounds with her eyes fixed on long gashes on her side. She occasionally glanced over at my log cabin. And then I saw her pup.

            The pup was sleeping under his mother, protected from wild winter around them. His fur was grey, just like his mother’s, but he also had a black striped that traveled along his spine, from the top of his head to the tip of his tail. In the way that he was balled up, he could have been mistaken for a chocolate glazed donut. I shook the thought away, trying to focus on the actually severity of the situation at hand but I remembered a time when my mother drove me to a donut shop near our house and we sat at a booth to eat the pastries while talking about my school. It wasn’t too long after that that my parents divorced and I decided to live on my own in Alaska. In a way, that day at the donut shop was one of the last good memories that I had of my mother and I am glad that time didn’t have the chance to give me more bad memories. She was caring and looking out for me, and I can respect that. I never cared much for family connections and bonds, but I could see how someone living in a new place without any friends might begin to appreciate family more.

            The mother wolf decision to come to my cabin surprised me, because I am sure that the wolf packs in the area know me as the hunter. I only killed the local wildlife out of necessity. It was a several hour trip by plane to get to something resembling a convenience store. But that was my choice. I didn’t want that sort of convenience and, in a way, I found more convenience in being away from other people. No one complained about my hunting and I never accidentally come across someone or some body while I hunted. But the wolves knew me by now. I killed several of the local wolves and left blood trails to my cabin. I figured the blood trails would scare off the rest of the wolves in the area. But here was this she-wolf, creating a blood trail to my cabin.

            I picked up my rifle and put on my hat, gloves and wolf-fur winter coat before walking outside. The snow came down faster and the cold air pierced the open flesh on my face and wrists. The mother wolf started up but the pain in her bad leg and side forced her to sit back down. As I walked closer to her, I saw the severity of her wounds. If there was a vet or animal doctor nearby, she might have been fine, but she was in the wild and nature didn’t care about her and I could only do so much. Her eyes beamed directly in mine, and I could understand her pain.

            She was from the pack traveling through the area. She was the only female in the pack. She watched the others fight over her. She had a pup with the leader. She saw how the pup had a black stripe like the leader had. She was lonely. She wanted to escape the pack. She tried to. She was met with teeth and claws. She had few options. She cared for her pup. She had limited choices. She could wait in the forest. She knew the others would track her down. She knew her pup would be in danger. She could go to the hunter’s cabin. She knew what the hunter had done with some of the others. She also knew that the others were afraid of the hunter. She knew that her pup would be safe from the others. She chose to come here. She chose for her pup.

            A wave of sadness washed over me, as I understood that the mother wolf was trying to make the right decisions. She knew she didn’t have much time and she didn’t care. I took the gloves of one of my hands and stuck my fingers out. She hesitantly smelled them and then licked them. She made her final decision. She looked down at her cub and then to me, wearily but still with a fire in her eyes. A fire burning from the bond and love she had for her pup. I gently picked up the sleeping cub in one hand and then reached out to pick up the mother wolf. She growled at me, not angrily but just to make her choice clear. She wanted to die in the wild. I rushed into my cabin with the cub, bringing it out of the cold, relentless winter. When I looked out of my window, I could see the other wolves coming out of the surrounding forest and approaching the wounded mother wolf. I went outside and pointed my rifle at her. She looked at me, with those big eyes that her pup would inherit. She gently closed them shut for the last time, silently conceded her wish to me. I carefully aimed and pulled the triggered. The other wolves scattered away. I picked up the mother wolf and waited for the wintery storm to pass before I buried her. And as I stood above her grave, with a shovel in my hand and the pup sitting on his haunches next to me, I remembered standing by my mother’s grave, reading her suicide note and not understanding it.