In Praise of Wolves

by R. D. Lawrence

  There is no doubt that wolves are united by human-like family ties. Most usually the alpha male and female enter into a relationship during which they will mate only with each other, and although an occasional “divorce” is to be noted among them – as was the case with Shawano and Brigit – these are the exception rather than the rule, occurring with far less frequency than is the case in human societies today. Among primates, male-female relationships are quite different. Chimpanzees are notoriously promiscuous. When a female comes into estrus, she is mated by any and all males that can reach her. This means that when an infant is born, the identity of its natural father can never be determined. Perhaps this accounts for the fact that although males are generally protective of the infants, they have little to do with their upbringing; when males engage in their frantic and quite regular dominance displays, they may kill an infant chimpanzee if it gets in their way.

  Gorillas are different again; they live in bands in which a dominant male mates with all the females in his harem and leaves the mothers to look after the infants. Vegetarian-insectivores, gorillas are, however, much more peaceful than the unpredictable chimpanzees, which practice cannibalism. Another of man’s primate relatives, the orangutan, is a predominantly solitary creature when fully adult, a female mating with any male she happens to encounter during the period of estrus and continuing alone during her pregnancy and after the infant is born until the next mating period occurs, five or six years later, when the young orangutan is able to care for itself.

  Conversely, wolves are extremely solicitous of their young. The fathers take an active part in their rearing and education; they feed them, groom them, and protect them. Certainly no wolf would ever be guilty of harming one of its own pups, nor would any member of the family. Then, too, all members of a pack are closely united, even the lowest in rank, although, as has been noted, there are occasions when a subordinate wolf leaves the family of its own accord or because it is in the interest of the unit to banish it.

  I am not suggesting here that comparative studies of primates and humans should not be made, but I would point out to those who engage in such research that the social relationships so far recorded for these animals are quite different from those that have been observed in humans and wolves.

  Besides being the two most social species of terrestrial mammals, man and wolf are also the most adaptable. But primates have been unable to adapt to the many changes that have taken place in their environments from prehistoric times.

  Although I have never encouraged our pups to hunt (as I did Matta and Wa, whom I raised with the intention of returning them to their natural environment), Tundra and Taiga demonstrated at an early age that they were inherently prepared for the life of the predator, at first stalking each other or lying in ambush, the one who was playing the part of hunter lying flat on its stomach, its haunches drawn up, ready to pounce on the one that was the supposed prey. After we began taking them for walks, they hunted in earnest, Tundra being the first to score when, despite being on a lead, he charged into a bush and caught a young sparrow. Taiga was next when she caught a snake, then a mouse. They were not yet three months old at this time.

  After the large enclosure was completed, the pups hunted whenever opportunity presented itself, catching mice, moles, shrews, and occasionally birds. During the next spring they snapped up flies, mosquitoes, and dragonflies. Tundra, until he learned that he could not actually fly, frequently leaped at birds that were much too high for him to reach, and Taiga spent many hours digging at mouse and mole tunnels. Watching them carefully, I was able to note that although their genetic programming did not at first allow them to attain a high rate of success, they gradually built upon their innate skills, exercising their intelligence and showing themselves eminently able to learn from experience.

  By January 1985, they had become experts. And although they did not eat what they killed, they could not resist the temptation to hunt, the contradiction rising from the fact that, although they were well fed, they were not responsible for the “kills” that supplied them with their daily rations and were therefore not expending the abundant energy with which they had been endowed. All predators must earn their own living. To do so, they must work hard and on almost full-time basis if they are to be adequately sustained. This means that when a predator is held captive, even from birth, its metabolic rate and energy levels will not allow it to become sedentary: Mind and body must be continually challenged, otherwise boredom will set in and on its heels will come stress, which will soon be followed by aberrant behaviour, and, if not relieved in time, will result in death from metabolic breakdown.

  In their natural world, and as soon as the pups are moved to their rendezvous, they hunt constantly, at first using each other as surrogate prey, as Tundra and Taiga did, then hunting clumsily, seeking mice and other small animals. The difference between such cubs and our own is that wild pups eat what they catch because, despite the care lavished on them by the pack, they frequently must go hungry.

  By the time the cubs begin to go hunting with the pack, usually in late August or early September, they have already become adept at finding and catching small animals, acquiring their skills in the nursery without benefit of adult tutelage. But when they set out with the pack on their first hunt for large prey, the young wolves are little more than spectators during the actual kill, although they actively participate in the chase. Gradually, as they grow older, stronger, and more sure of themselves, they learn how to attack the various prey animals upon which the pack subsists.

  In North America, wolves prey on moose, caribou, elk, deer, sheep, goats, bison (in a few locations, principally in Wood Buffalo National Park, which is located in northern Alberta and the southern Northwest Territories), beaver, birds such as grouse, ducks, and geese, and on a variety of small animals. In the far north, their principal prey is the caribou; in the boreal forest regions, moose will probably form their major prey, although in some locations moose, deer, and sometimes elk are found together, thus offering wider selection and opportunity.

  Since wolves are supreme opportunists, they will take whatever they can get most easily, including domestic stock, but nature designed them for running and equipped them with the size and stamina most suited for killing large prey. Indeed, it can be said that the wolf taught the moose how to run – or, conversely, that the moose taught the wolf how to chase! However this may be, large animals that are in good condition can always run faster than wolves, which might suggest that the predators are at a disadvantage. Nevertheless, although a wolf may attain an all – out speed of about thirty miles an hour – which is about ten miles an hour slower than a moose or a deer – it has the stamina to trot after its prey for hours on end, tiring the quarry and eventually slowing it down, when it may then be killed.

  When the quarry is moose, it has been calculated that wolves must chase between eleven and thirteen animals before they manage to kill one. For deer, the estimate is between eight and eleven; the odds are similar for caribou and elk, but far higher for bison.

  When hunting such quarry, wolves usually stay together, but occasionally, because of terrain, a pack may split around a natural barrier. When this happens, it is possible that some of the wolves will accidentally outflank the prey and will thus be in a position to make a quick kill, although this is the exception rather than the rule. But when hunting small prey, such as beaver, hares, birds, and the like, wolves resort to stalking and ambushing, sometimes working alone, and sometimes in concert with one or more other members of the pack.

  In suitable habitats, wolves spend most of their time hunting the large prey animals, for though such quarry is more difficult to bring down, the prize yields enough food to keep the pack satisfied for several days.

  Large, adult members of the deer family must be attacked on the run, for they are too powerful and dangerous to be seized if they stand at bay. Moose, caribou, and even deer use either of their
front feet as weapons, stab-kicking at a wolf and often killing it with one slash of the pointed hoof. If a quarry so engaged is attacked from the rear by another wolf, it will kick with a back hoof, much as a horse will do; and if such a blow connects it will send an attacker flying, perhaps killing the hunter or injuring it so severely that it will die later. In this regard, it has been claimed by some authors that wolves always kill an injured companion. This is pure nonsense! There are more than enough sighting records to prove that wolves will feed wounded pack members until they are either well enough to resume their place in the pack, or until they die from their injuries.

  If a moose, elk, or caribou stands at bay, a pack will surround it, testing it occasionally by making bluff charges in the hope of stampeding it. If such an animal refuses to run, and many of them do, the pack will give up after about twenty minutes, leaving in quest of easier prey. When they encounter an animal that will run and they can eventually attack it, the wolves always aim for the rump or flank in an attempt to make the quarry stumble and fall. Because wolves have very powerful jaws, and teeth that interlock following a bite (rather like the jaws of a closed trap), the hunters can hang on to their target and bring it down sooner or later, at which point the entire pack piles in and the kill is made quickly. Sometimes, however, a wolf may miss the rear of the animal and secure a hold on its neck or shoulder: if it cannot unlock its jaws in time, the quarry may dash it against a tree, almost certainly killing it.

  Tundra and Taiga will never have to earn their living in this way, but I have little doubt that they could now do so if necessary although at first they would probably go hungry quite frequently and would spend most of their time hunting smaller animals. Sooner or later, however, they would learn through trial and error and would then be capable of killing large prey, provided that they stayed together. A lone wolf is always at a disadvantage when trying to bring down a big, healthy animal, but it can kill the old, sick, injured, and young.

  Through nature, through the evolutionary continuum and ecological relatedness and interdependence of all things, we are as much a part of the wolf as the wolf is a part of us. And as we destroy or demean nature, wolves, or any creature, great or small, we do no less to ourselves.

  Michael Fox, The Soul of the Wolf.

  12

  The winter of 1984-85 was long and severe in our part of Ontario. Temperatures fell in December to thirty-five degrees below zero, and the snows piled higher and higher as the nights lengthened; but although the business of splitting stove wood and clearing pathways through the while blanket that insulated the land considerably increased my workload, the beauty of our forests and the high glee with which Tundra and Taiga greeted the hibernal changes more than made up for the additional tasks that were imposed on me.

  I remember the way that the wolves reacted to the first really heavy fall of snow during a morning in early December. There was no wind. The flakes, each as large as a fingernail, descended lazily, fluttering like small and aimless butterflies and landing as gently as thistledown, every one individually noticeable, all of them together forming a white screen that softened the outlines of the entire landscape.

  The moment we left the house, carrying their morning snack, Tundra and Taiga rushed to the fence, their fur covered in snow that flew off in small clouds as they danced excitedly while waiting for us to arrive.

  Entering the enclosure after we had fed them, we were greeted briefly but exuberantly before the cubs began running and leaping aimlessly, pausing now and again to nose into the snow, then rolling in it, all four legs in the air and kicking frantically, only to jump up and start the whole process all over again, as exuberantly as before. Presently, Tundra stopped dashing about and began to catch snowflakes, snapping to left and right with head slightly raised, evidently surprised when each snow-star that he caught disappeared the instant his jaws closed on it. Taiga immediately copied his actions; but whereas Tundra became thoughtfully puzzled when the flakes vanished, Taiga showed herself to be completely exasperated by her inability to bite a single one of those elusive targets. Impatient as she is, she quickly gave vent to her frustrations, leaping upward frantically, snapping rapidly, and yapping, her voice shrill and discordant.

  Meanwhile, Tundra appeared to realize that the flakes were related to the snow upon which he and his sister had been quenching their thirst. Having formed this conclusion, he came trotting toward us, now and then catching a flake or two as he travelled and demonstrating that he was tasting each droplet of melt by the way he moved his mouth and licked his lips. Upon arriving at my side, he flopped down, lifting a back leg and soliciting my attention. This caused Taiga to abandon her fruitless assaults on the snowflakes in favour of dashing up to Sharon so as to leap at her affectionately; she did this with far too much abandon, in the process scratching my wife with her sharp claws.

  Seeing that Sharon’s face had been rather badly scraped and that blood was flowing from her bottom lip, I grabbed Taiga by the scruff and forced her to lie on her side, whereupon the overenthusiastic young wolf became instantly contrite; but because I wanted her to understand that she had taken too much of a liberty with the Alpha female of our pack, I shook her scruff and scolded her sternly. Taiga whined pitifully, wet herself, and sought to lick me: but before I could release her so that we all might “kiss and make up,” Tundra rushed over and fastened his jaws on her neck, his great fangs brushing my fingers as he sought to reinforce my authority by pinning her head to the snowy ground while emitting a low growl.

  When Sharon noticed what was going on, she forgot her pain and interceded on Taiga’s behalf, scolding Tundra and me and telling us that Taiga had not meant to be so rough, a fact of which I was well aware. In any event, having disciplined the recalcitrant young wolf, I forgave her. So did Tundra. The four of us then had a “love-in” during which Taiga, perforce, had to lick Sharon’s face in her inimitable style. While his sister was thus engaged, Tundra positioned himself behind Sharon’s crouching form, raised himself slowly and carefully on his back legs, and settled both his great paws on her shoulders, holding that stance as he dab-licked my wife’s forehead. A few minutes later, the young wolves ran off to play in the snow and we left the enclosure. Sharon watched the cubs as I closed the gate, then turned to me.

  “They look as if they are in their element,” my wife remarked.

  “They are in their element,” I replied. Walking toward the house, I reminded Sharon that wolves thrive in winter, provided they can get enough to eat. Indeed, they actually enjoy the cold and play in it even when fully adult.

  In the early autumn, wolves begin to grow their thick, woolly underfur, and their long, rather coarse guard hairs become glossy. Soon afterwards, they are garbed in coats so thick that they add about a third to their bulk, raiment that makes them impervious to the cold and keeps them dry even when they must enter water, for the underfur is made impermeable by natural oils.

  Our cubs were no exception. By October they had started to grow their new finery, and they appeared deceptively large in it. Tundra showed areas of coppery brown on his back and sides: Taiga lost most of the attractive russet tones that had decorated her face, flanks, and legs; she was now light fawn, almost white in places. But because young wolves do not get their permanent colours until they begin to molt in May and June of the following spring, the tones they acquire during their first winter make it impossible to determine what their adult colouration is going to be. Despite the browns that showed up in Tundra’s coat, I felt fairly sure that he would revert to black during the spring molt, for this is usual in pups that are born black. In Taiga’s case, however, although I thought that she might return to at least some of the colours that she had exhibited as a pup, I was far less certain.

  The heavy snowfall that had so delighted the cubs was the harbinger of true winter, ushering in temperatures that caused the thermometer to plunge well below zero two days after the skies had clear
ed and allowed the sun to shine again upon the wilderness.

  During daylight, the differences between sun and shade temperatures were enormous. On one occasion, at noon, while the thermometer on the north side of our log house registered ten degrees below zero, I hung a spare thermometer in the direct sunlight striking the south side of the barn. The mercury climbed to sixty-seven degrees above zero within three minutes.

  At night, of course, it was a different story. Under clear skies, the temperature dived as soon as the sun fell behind the trees; it continued to drop until it reached its lowest point at about 3 or 4am. Between times, the blue-black heavens were filled with numberless stars, the constant sparkling of which was periodically complemented by the phosphorescent displays of the northern lights.

  During those nights, I would often go outside, enter the enclosure, and squat in the snow, flanked by the wolves. Silently, communicating through body contact, we would watch the red-green stars and the coruscating aurora borealis and we would become at one under the blazing heavens. Sometimes I would be compelled to howl; and even as I prepared to do so, Tundra and Taiga would be equally urged, their ululating songs rising above my puny voice and echoing throughout the wilderness.

  Regardless of the cold, the wolves slept in the open, disdaining the barn and the brush shelter that Murray Palmer had made for them; their bedding places were easy for us to find when we entered the enclosure every morning, because their body heat always melted the snow and ice, creating saucer-like depressions about three feet in diameter. The pups never slept in the same place twice in succession, although when an old depression had been properly covered by new snow, it would be used again, the reason being that by the time they awakened in the morning the melted area had turned to ice, its hard surface preventing the wolves from settling themselves comfortably on it again the following night. Like dogs, wolves trample down a sleep area by circling over it a few times, then they lie down and shuffle themselves into position, their hips and shoulders pressing on the snow or ground and creating slight indentations that fit the contours of these bony parts. Curled up, their noses covered by their bushy tails, they then sleep comfortably.