The Pup Who Cried Wolf

by Chris Kurtz

  Then it happens. As she rushes down the motor home steps, the cage slips out of her hands. We flip through the air, clatter to the ground, and roll over two times. I might mention that none of us have on our seat belts. I might also mention that keeping my feet dry is not as important to me now as keeping the wet sawdust out of my ears, eyes, and mouth.

  We tumble over each other in a mash of feathers, fur, wet sawdust, and little black peanuts that aren’t actually peanuts.

  I lift my head, shake my ears, and see that the door of the cage has popped open in the crash.

  “Make a break for it!” Hector yells.

  He doesn’t need to say it twice. I break for freedom and over my head I feel a rush of feathers.

  “Que libertad!” Even Glory isn’t going to pass up this chance. She might like sitting around in a cage, but not that cage.

  “Free! Free!” squeaks Hector. I see flashes of white as he scuttles through the dust of the campsite, over the road, and into the tall grass on the other side. For a short-legged guy he is moving awfully fast.

  “Come back, come back,” Alexandra screeches. “I’ll get in trouble if you don’t come back.”

  If escaping her clutches isn’t enough motivation, she has just put the gravy on the dog biscuit. I, for one, am going to do my part to make sure she gets in as much trouble as possible.

  I dash after Hector through the dust and over the road. I dodge around a root.

  “Ulp.” My legs fly out from under me. I land with a thud in a puff of dust. “Save yourselves,” I choke. “They’ve got me.”

  Behind us, Alexandra gives a little scream of joy.

  Suddenly Hector is back at my side. “Get up, you lazy mutt. Your ancestors are waiting for you and you’ll never find them lying on your back.”

  Good advice. I scramble up. Take one step. Hit the dirt again.

  “It’s the princess necklace,” shouts Glory from the nearest tree. “It’s caught.”

  I crane my neck and see she’s right. The loop in the end of my golden princess necklace has hooked the root, and I’m stuck fast.

  Thud. Thud.

  Alexandra’s footsteps.

  I moan and close my eyes.

  Then I feel Hector at my neck and hear the snick, snick of his yellow teeth. The yarn falls from my neck and lies in pieces in the dust.

  “Run,” he says. “Hurry up. Go make us proud, wolfy junior.”

  I feel rather than see Alexandra’s hands reaching. I scramble up, teeter a moment, then run. Just behind me comes the mighty thump and wail of girl falling into dust.

  I streak for the road following Hector’s fast feet.

  “Don’t go too far.” Glory flaps over my head. “Hector, stay out of sight. Your white fur is like a flag calling every predator in the park. And behave yourself with the ladies.”

  I find my wolf legs and race by Hector. “Find a hole and run down it,” I shout over my shoulder. “And thanks.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” squeals Hector. “Where’s the rodent hangout around this place? Because here comes the party man.” He disappears into a bush and doesn’t come out the other side.

  I run with Glory above me until I can see we’re safe. She lands on the branch of a tree and I stop.

  “Thanks for your help back there,” I say.

  “Stay right here with me.” She tips her head to one side. “You’re not as big as you think you are.”

  “Stay here?” I say. “I can’t. This is my chance for the wild life. You should run for it too. Or fly for it.”

  “Oh, no.” She shakes all her feathers, and little bits of sawdust fly off. “I’m a city girl. I don’t need any of that kind of trouble. I’m just going to hang around here for a while and play it safe. You should too.”

  “Thanks, Glory.” I stare up. “After I find my pack, I’m sure we won’t meet up again, but you’ve been a great friend.”

  She looks sad. “Lobo, listen to my advice just this one time. Go and take a peek around if you have to, but stay out of sight. Get this wild thing out of your system and come right back. It’s too dangerous out there, Lobo. It’s no place for a pup like you.”

  I grin. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Think about yourself for once. You can get back to the wild life of your childhood.”

  She snorts. “I’m going right back to my cage just as soon as the little kidnapper gets what she deserves, and the coast is clear.” Then she fluffs her feathers and tucks her neck down into her shoulders. “It’s cold out here. I just hope Mona wakes up soon.”

  “Well, bye then.” I can’t wait to be on my way. I head down a track in the direction I heard the howls coming from last night.

  13

  My Destiny

  After a little bit of sniffing, I find a trail through the brush. It has footprints and droppings and all the stuff a wild trail should have, including dust.

  I’m so happy, I pick up one of my hind feet and skip down the path on three wheels. Then I remember that wolves probably don’t do too much skipping.

  Just in case someone is watching, I decide it’s time to start fitting in. Skipping will never do for an alpha wolf. But neither will my usual run. It’s more like a skitter.

  Somewhere down the line I got into this bad habit of skittering. Since I never had a true wolf role model, there was no one to correct me or show me how to run properly. I was going to have to figure this one out on my own.

  Loping, I think. That’s how wolves run. Legs high, feet together and kind of bouncy. First the front end bounces up and then the back end. Loping is like a horse galloping, but happier.

  I’m going to tell you right now, loping isn’t as easy as it might appear. It takes a little while to get the hang of a good lope. In fact, a lope might be the sort of thing that works better on a long-legged animal. Not that my legs are short. A little undersized, maybe.

  A few steps down the trail, I think I’m getting the hang of it. My paws are flopping around like the big dogs I watch back in the city. I’m leaping forward with each powerful thrust of my hind legs, and I can feel my tail flowing out behind me.

  Then one of my front paws forgets to flop forward, and I stumble. I pretty near sprain an ankle and definitely eat some Yellowstone trail dirt. It tastes about as bad as you might think. Dusty with a strong aroma of dirt. And since this is a foot trail, it has just a hint of bottom-of-foot flavor.

  Now, this is an experience I don’t want to repeat, so I decide to take a break from loping and go back to skittering—temporarily.

  The sun is just beginning to come up. The air is fresh and clean. Each puff of breeze brings a whiff of smells that are wild and new.

  But something is missing. I try to think what it is. My dream is coming true but somehow something feels wrong.

  Mona.

  I stop. What will Mona think when she sees I’ve run off? A very bad feeling comes into my tummy, and for the first time in my life it isn’t hunger. What about Mona, who brought me home when I was just a puppy and made me feel safe? Who will protect her on road trips? Who will look at photo albums with her and go for walks in the park?

  In my mind I see Mona wandering all over Yellowstone calling my name.

  I almost turn around right there and run back.

  Almost.

  Then I come to my senses. What am I thinking? I have a wolf family out there. Any dog with any pride at all takes his very first chance to join the wild pack and never looks back. He lives to hunt with the big boys. Mona can get a cat if she wants something that sleeps all day and never thinks about his wild side.

  I go back to skittering and put all thoughts of Mona right out of my head.

  After a while the trail ends at a big grassy meadow. There are smells of all sorts here. Most noses, of course, wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.

  I can tell that deer have used this meadow. My nose is assisted by the fact that there are piles of little black marbles lying all around that are too big f
or rabbit … marbles.

  I lope … that is to say, I half skitter, half lope around the edge of the grassy meadow. I am looking and smelling for something. Deer smells are just fine when you’re looking for a deer. But I’m after a different smell.

  When I find it, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  I sniff the bush again. Yes! All wolves and their descendents leave their calling cards on bushes. Now it’s my turn to add my calling card to the stack.

  Leaving a calling card is something dogs practice every day of their lives. Especially boy dogs. It’s not an easy thing to explain. An animal without my mental toughness would probably get embarrassed by this explanation, but not me.

  First, you lift up your leg. It doesn’t matter which leg, exactly, but it should definitely be a back leg. Lift it up high, because the next part could get a little messy if you aren’t careful.

  Now balance, wait for it, and if everything is operating correctly, pretty soon you’ll feel something like a tickle. Or maybe it’s more like an itch. No, it’s not a tickle or an itch, but it is a feeling. (I know this is getting complicated, but stay with me because we’re almost done.)

  Then the last thing is to check behind yourself to make sure you aimed correctly. That’s it! This whole process leaves you feeling proud and puts an extra bounce in your lope. Everyone should try it. Ask any wolf or his relatives.

  I lift my leg, leave my calling card—very, very expertly, by the way—and then lope off to find myself a place to wait.

  I know from the fresh smell of the calling cards that wolves like to come to this meadow often, and I am sure that they will be back soon. I don’t want to scare off any potential prey, so I decide to find a hiding place.

  There’s a clump of tall grass on a high bank that overlooks the meadow. I crawl inside the clump and wait for my brothers.

  14

  A Life-and-Death Matter

  I lie perfectly still. Completely camouflaged. Unseen. A top predator at his most dangerous. Totally invisible.

  Then a fly lands on my ear. It tickles. I do not stir. A top predator does not break his cover for any reason short of life and death. The fly circles the edge of my ear and tickles some more. I do not move a muscle.

  The fly takes a sightseeing adventure—southbound. It’s walking on the inside of my ear! The tickle curls my paws, but otherwise I remain still as a statue. It turns out this fellow has a special move saved up for me. It’s called the go-deep-and-then-buzz-as-loud-as-you-can move.

  I jump about four feet in the air and hit the ground running, shaking my head as hard as I can. My ear has decided this is a life-and-death matter.

  When I am sure the bug has taken his game somewhere else, I hop back into my hiding place. If any wary prey has seen that display of strength and agility, they will be long gone. All the rodents and vermin who happened to be watching at that moment are shivering at the bottoms of their holes.

  The thought of vermin makes me think about Hector and the way he helped me get away from Alexandra. I hope he is meeting girl rats, and that at least one of them doesn’t find him as ugly or disgusting as I do.

  He’s fine, I tell myself. He is probably having a party.

  But what if the other rats take a disliking to that strange white fur and kick him out? Then where will he go? He can’t hide. At night he practically glows. An owl or a weasel would make short work of him.

  What? Is it possible I’m worried about Hector? Never in a million dog years did I think I would worry about that little pest. But here I am fretting about him.

  Maybe Glory is watching out for him. It would be just like her to spend her free days checking up on the little guy instead of testing the wild winds of Yellowstone. I think of her racing down a canyon on wings that feel young and quick again.

  If I wasn’t such a cold-blooded predator, I would say that I miss them both. I would say that I am going soft and that I care about those two unfortunate critters. But a cold-blooded predator has no time for such tender feelings. He thinks of one thing only—survival for himself and for the pack.

  I lie very still in my hiding place and remind myself over and over that my pack is out there somewhere. They will bound over to me when they see me. Their heads will be up, ready to welcome the newest hunter into their group. The wolf leader will lick my nose and I will lick his and then we will sniff each other.

  We will sniff noses, and we will sniff necks and shoulders. Sniffing is a big deal in the dog world. Then we will move down and sniff sides and back legs. And then will come the big finish of the sniffing business, where we will sniff … Well, never mind that part. If you’re not a dog or a wolf, you might not understand. The important thing is that we will sniff each other and then we will hunt.

  While I am running through all that sniffing in my mind, the sun is getting hotter and hotter. My hiding place is getting more and more uncomfortable. Grass and sticks can poke the soft underbelly of even the most ferocious top predator. There is another thing that’s getting uncomfortable.

  My stomach.

  I start thinking about dog food. Delicious, crunchy, perfectly sized dog food and a cool bowl of water right next to the food. “No,” I whisper sternly. A wolf, even a wolf in training, does not crave dog food. He does not wish for crisp, duck-flavored Nibbles and Nuggets, perfectly identical, tested for taste on millions of dogs … Stop it, I tell myself.

  Instead, I work over my introduction lines. “Howdy, folks.” I’m pleased with how deep and smooth my voice sounds in my mind. “Do you reckon you could use another really wild, really brave hunting partner?” I call that my bold Western approach. Always effective.

  Or I could say, “Jumping jackrabbits. I was just about to go out on another one of my fantastically successful hunting trips. Want to come along?” I call that my surprised-but-happy-to-meet-you approach.

  Or I could impress them with the city-dog-meets-country-cousin approach. “Hot dog in hamburger heaven. Haven’t I seen you before?”

  A loping sound makes me lift my head, and at the far edge of the meadow I see them.

  Wolves!

  15

  The Hunt

  All my fancy introductions fly out of my head. I won’t deny it. I am thrilled. I am so thrilled that my feet are shaking, and my shaky feet make my legs shake, which makes my whole body shake.

  This is the most exciting moment of my life. I am maybe just a touch overwhelmed at the sight of the greatest hunters in the world.

  I watch them glide into the meadow grass that reaches almost up to their bellies. I stay perfectly still. A fly could land on my eyeball, jump into my ear, walk across my brain and out the other side, and I would not make a sound.

  The wolves are beautiful and frightening. They are just as amazing as I thought they would be, only more so.

  At first I think they are just there for a little romp in the grass. But the lead wolf changes direction suddenly and starts sniffing this way and that.

  The other wolves join in on either side. They move as if they are one wolf.

  I know what they are doing. Something is hiding for its life in the tall grass. The hunt is on.

  Suddenly they leap into action. The lead wolf charges forward with the other two close beside. I can’t see what they’re pursuing, but I know a hunt when I see it. Whenever the prey darts left, the wolf on the left cuts it off.

  They are powerful and fast.

  There is no escape.

  Then the animal, the prey, jumps into the air for a second, and I see what they are chasing. It’s a rabbit. A brown fellow with a white tail. He has tried everything else to escape, and now he is leaping. But it’s too late. As soon as he lands, the teeth are just inches away.

  My heart is knocking on my ribs. I know that the end is near for the rabbit. To my horror, I realize that I’m rooting for the little guy to get away.

  I’ve never been so shocked in all my life. What sort of wolf brother ever cheers for the rabbit?


  I stand frozen. The chase stops short. The lead wolf dips his head in the grass and jerks his head back and forth. I can’t see it but I imagine the quick bite. And then the stillness. The three hunters lift their heads and look around while they catch their breath.

  Yellow eyes. Yellow eyes boring into anything that moves. If you get locked onto by a pair of those eyes, you stay looked at. That’s what happened to the rabbit.

  That little guy never had a chance. It wasn’t exactly a fair fight. He was seven times smaller than even one wolf. And there were three of them.

  For a second, I think about walking out there and telling them to pick on someone their own size. I think about marching right out and staring them down. And then it hits me. I am about the same size as the rabbit they are about to snack on.

  I crouch in the grass. I decide to stay right where I am. Only a little bit lower down.

  “Get it over with,” I whisper.

  But they still don’t eat that poor rabbit. Instead they lift their noses in the air, throw their heads back and forth, and sniff really hard. Something has caught their attention. Something that seems mighty interesting.

  I settle myself down for another show. I promise myself that this time I won’t root for the prey. It’s all about survival, I tell myself. You can’t be softhearted when you’re the top predator.

  “Okay, brother wolves. Go git him,” I whisper.

  That’s when I realize that the wind has shifted. It’s blowing from behind me, over my back, and down onto the meadow.

  My brother wolves are walking my way.

  Something is so interesting to them that they have left that dead rabbit where it lies in the grass.

  They stroll over to a certain bush, and I suddenly wish I had not left my calling card right where any old top predator can find it and trace the scent another twenty feet over.

  The trembling in my feet isn’t excitement this time.