by Patrick Rees
The wolf pack was waking up, and they in fact had also heard what the birds of the woods were saying about the farm on the edge of the woods for days now. Farm animals without a farmer to protect them and a strange sheep roaming the woods made the old she-wolf drool to herself.
Sue would have liked to have meet Bennie on the trail herself. The silly old fox had befriended the sheep and took him home to the farm. She would have words with Patrick if she met up with him again. The crafty fox had escaped her once. No matter, the sheep were unprotected, and she was hungry. The wolves would move back toward the farm. Yes, they had been spooked by the smell of death from the old man’s grave. But now she knew more of the truth. The old man had just died; no one or nothing had killed him. She had nothing to fear. Well, maybe the old donkey was still about. He knew wolves and how to fight them. She would have to take care if he was still guarding the farm.
Ed was a mess and was not ready for a fight with anything, least of all a seasoned donkey. His mind had been broken by the disease and stumbled about only eating because Sue allowed him to eat. Her mate had been strong before but was only a shadow of his old self. Most of the pack was showing signs of the disease. She really had no idea how they had contracted the disease, but here it left them a mangy bunch. A middle-aged male named Lot seemed to be immune, but the rest were slipping as the days went by.
Something had to be done. She herself would take a few of the healthier young males with her to scout out the farm and its new situation. Was it possible the old donkey still stood its post at the farm?
It was a long walk, and she had to fuss at the remaining pack members to follow quietly behind. They were losing their stealthy approach as Ed and the others stumbled about in the leaves. A donkey would hear this crazed heard for certain. The sight of Sue severely growling directly in the face of Ed made the rest of the pack take note Sue was serious
.
The birds took interest in the wolves as they proceeded down the forest trail. Sounds of alarm announced their march. Patrick heard the commotion and found his nemesis heading through the woods toward the farm, Bennie’s farm
.
Bennie must be warned.
The wolves were not in top shape, and Patrick knew how to get to the farm quickly. Bennie was in the field again early and eating away near the top of the hill when Patrick whispered to him. Bennie smiled at his new friend but saw right away the fox was real impatient to tell him something.
The wolves are coming.
Bennie was scared, and Patrick knew he had to say something to calm the little sheep. Patrick told Bennie to look at him as he had lived through a wolf attack. He said Bennie was much more brave then him. He had been a sheep alone in the woods, which was unheard of. People were scared of Patrick. “After all, I am wild you know,” he said. “And you were not afraid of me.” Bennie should warn the farm, and the old fox would go to see what else he could find out as the wolves approached.
Bennie went straight down the hill to see Henry. Henry would know what to do about the wolves. Henry was awake. He had felt something wrong or strange in how the birds were acting. His fears were confirmed when Bennie came running up with his news. Did Henry have any fight left in him? He was wondering how else the farm would make it another day if the wolves were not stopped.
Henry told Frank the news, and they huddled for some minutes discussing the options given the situation. Frank and Henry made a formidable pair if threatened. Now they had a fight on their hands, well, hooves. The old farmer had protected them before, but they were on their own now. If the wolves had attacked in strength in days past, the farmer would have been unable to fiend them all off; some farm animals would have been lost even then.
Henry stood off by himself. Strangely, he was happily humming to himself. Yes, Henry knew how to fight wolves, and his old age made him not fear death. Frank knew his old partner well; he was happy his old friend was at peace with himself. Frank stood back in the trees near the barn. He could cover Henry with a charge out into the field if he had to. He was protecting against any of the stealthy wolves slipping through to the barn. They stood watch, and even Ralph managed not to slip into the liquor that night. The farm was on high alert. Bennie watched from the doorway of the barn. He dared not to sleep but could not help himself. He drifted off still facing the field where Henry stood watch.
A donkey’s ears are sharp. Henry heard them coming. He was ready. He had been ready since that wolf had been driven into a tree years ago, up the hill from where he stood now.
Sue saw the donkey at his post. He still guarded the farm. Bad news, but the hunger that had driven her made her careless. She signaled to the young males to follow her lead. They would attack head-on as soon as they were in position.
Patrick saw the wolves creep into the edge of the trees. He howled, well, as best as a fox could howl. The sound had its intended effect—Henry knew they were coming, and Frank stepped forward as Bennie stretched awake. How brave was he now? He always headed to the barn for protection from the wolves. He was at the barn. Bennie swallowed hard; market day or wolves coming, he had no real time to think. Gray flashes darted out of the trees directly toward Henry.
Henry saw them and held his ground. Frank would need to help, but Henry knew Frank would be coming up instantly. Henry seemed in his element. He spun and kicked, and wolves went flying. Sue jumped at Henry, jaws first. Frank was into the fight and stomping on any wolf that dared wiggle after it first was hit by Henry. Ed saw the mistake Sue had made from the trees and stumbled out with the rest of the pack to help. It was all or nothing now.
Henry did his level best and was all the happier for it. Frank lost sight of Henry as he charged up the hill toward the new gray masses appearing. The second wave was easy pickings. They were too far into the disease to be effective fighters. Bennie’s scream brought him running back toward the main barn. Henry had his hands full, so to speak, with Sue nailed to his chest. Henry rammed her head long into the barn door to get her off of him. Sue dropped in a heap. Frank was there an instant later to ensure she would not move further from the spot where she fell after Henry’s blow. She was dead and the rest of the pack was dead or dying.
The farm had its victory.
The sheep were staring at the remains of Sue when Bennie discovered Henry was missing. He had been too greatly hurt to make it. Henry died an honorable death under the tree he so loved. Bennie could do nothing when he found him there. Frank was already mourning his friend, as horses do. He let him be until sunrise. Henry would need to be buried, and the farm would need to dig another grave. Frank did not sleep at all that night, standing watch over his dead friend. Bennie was beside himself but knew in his heart this was what Henry had wanted— death in a fight—spared the rigors of death from old age.
They dug his grave at sunrise near the old farmer’s grave. Frank himself pulled Henry to the grave with all the reverence he could muster. Bennie kicked the dirt in just as he had done for the farmer, but this time, he truly hated himself for it. He spent a long time in the pond washing the dirt off himself this time.
He was sunning himself, trying to dry out, when the young girl appeared from around the front of the farm house. She had inherited the farm from her grandparents. Of course, the farm had been found to have no owner when the neighbors finally came to check on the farm. The animals seemed to be taking care of themselves well enough, so the girl had been contacted without much urgency. She was greeted with curious sheep and the sight of dead wolves everywhere.
She was left to guess about the events of the evening before. No sheep were lost, but one donkey was missing. She saw a wolf at the top of the hill with two pups. One small pup tumbled down the hill as the girl walked up. She righted the pup and smiled at the grown wolf. It only sat down in the grass at the edge of the field. It would never attack her or any of the animals
on the farm.
Bennie stared at the sight of the wolf in disbelief.
He turned, remembering the one word of the old owl, the word peace. As he left for the barn, he glanced back and thought he saw Patrick, his friend, slip back into the trees at the top of the hill, glowing with the setting sun behind him. After all, Patrick was wild—he lived in those woods.
