Tundra and Taiga often slept so close together that the two saucers they melted took the shape of a figure eight; but even when their bodies were not actually touching, no more than a foot separated their bedding places. Usually, the presence of only two saucers made it evident that the cubs had slept undisturbed in the same location, but some mornings we would find four depressions, two in one part of the enclosure and two in another. Such evidence told us that the wolves had been awakened and had evidently investigated the cause of their disturbance.
On Christmas, day, Sharon prepared a special meal for Tundra and Taiga, arranging the food so artistically in their bowls that I was prompted to ask if it was for us or for the cubs. This reminded us of an evening in September during Alison’s visit when we had eaten the meat intended for the wolves and they had dined on our freshly ground sirloin of beef that was supposed to have been made into hamburgers and grilled outdoors. The error was not discovered until after we had enjoyed the “wolf burgers,” when Sharon remarked that she had been surprised to notice that the ground beef bought that day for our use had turned very dark by late afternoon. My daughter then realized that she had unwittingly taken the wolf meat out of the refrigerator and handed it to my wife, who had used it to prepare the hamburgers. None of us experienced any bad aftereffects, however. In fact, Tundra and Taiga most often eat the same meats that we ourselves consume, the only difference being that they usually eat theirs raw.
In February, the cubs showed signs of restlessness and howled frequently at night, which suggested that although they were not yet sexually mature, they were experiencing some pre-adolescent hormonal changes in concert with the breeding season. Then, too, wild wolves and coyotes often howled from within the surrounding forests, and their cries, no matter how faint, invariably elicited replies from our wards.
During February’s full moon and under clear skies, the cubs became especially restless, at first playing excitedly while uttering high-pitched barks that were punctuated by companionable growls, but soon after midnight they began to howl repeatedly. We were in bed, but I got up, dressed, and went outside, using the side door of our house, which is not visible from the enclosure. I wanted to watch and listen, if possible, undetected by the cubs.
The moonlight was considerably enhanced by the snow, offering excellent visibility as I walked quietly to stand in the shadow of the garage, from there watching through field glasses. Tundra and Taiga were sitting side by side at the far end of the open part of the enclosure. They were staring intently toward the northwest, their bodies rigid, their ears pricked forward. At first the night was utterly silent, but after a few moments the howl of a wolf rose above the forest. In near unison, our wolves responded, their calls harmonizing with the more distant song of their wild relative. I timed the performance. It lasted one minute and forty-seven seconds and ended as abruptly as it had begun, the three wolves becoming silent almost simultaneously, as though by prearrangement, although our two lagged fractionally behind the forest-dweller.
I had thought that the cubs were completely unaware of my presence, for they had not even glanced briefly in my direction when I stationed myself close to one corner of the garage. But now they both turned and trotted toward the gate; upon reaching it, they stood and stared directly at me, or at least into the shadows in which I stood. Then they whined and began to dance expectantly, so I left my shelter and walked down to them, entering the enclosure and squatting between them, stroking them and being licked in turn. Ten minutes later I returned home, glad to be back in the warmth. The temperature outside had fallen to thirty-two degrees below zero. Back in bed, I read for a time before turning out the light, but as I began to doze, the wolves howled again. If there is a better way to go to sleep, I don’t know it.
Spring was late arriving in 1985. And it was a wet season, a period during which temperatures rose and fell repeatedly at first, one day showing the promise of melting snow and new plant growth, the next bringing fresh avalanches of white. But if the humans started to get a bit fed up when April was ushered in with a snowstorm, Tundra and Taiga welcomed the changeable weather. They especially enjoyed the new, wet snow, rolling in it, play-fighting, and generally having a wonderful time, quite oblivious of the fact that they greeted us every morning soaking wet and shockingly covered in mud, much of which they shook on us as we squatted outside the fence while giving them their morning snack. After such encounters, we would return to the house spattered by nearly black mire and soaked to the skin, although the pleasure we derived from being with the yearling wolves and watching the enthusiasm with which they greeted the change in seasons could not be dispelled by dirt or moisture.
On April 27, the cubs were one year old. Sharon prepared them each a birthday dish consisting of such delicacies as slices of boiled ham, salami, liver pate, and freshly ground hamburger, the whole enhanced by tastefully arrayed raw chicken wings and decorated by sprigs of parsley! As though wishing to celebrate the birth of two such wonderful beings, the day dawned sunny and warm and two robins appeared on the lawn. Then the ravens came, six of them settling in the trees within the enclosure, there to whistle and coo and croak with great abandon. I accused Sharon of being overly imaginative when she maintained that the birds were singing “Happy Birthday” to our wolves.
The weather continued to improve. When May arrived, new buds showed on the trees; windflowers started to appear. So did hordes of black-flies. Fortunately, the birds had also arrived by this time: tree and barn swallows, warblers, sparrows, and flycatchers, all of them feasting on the bloodsuckers; but they left more than enough to pester the wolves and their human companions.
Now Tundra and Taiga spent most of the day inside the barn, having soon learned that black-flies infrequently bite in semidarkness. At night, when the pestiferous gnats quelled their bloodthirsty desires in favour of sheltering on plants and grasses, the cubs busied themselves outside, playing, digging, chewing up old logs, and frequently interrupting their activities in order to howl.
Toward the middle of the month, Taiga began to molt, her thick underfur coming out in handfuls when Sharon brushed her, a task that my wife performed with dedication because she saved the woolly fur, which she intended to spin and to weave on her floor loom so that it would eventually become a part of some mysterious garment, the design of which was not to be divulged to me. Taiga greatly enjoyed the grooming. She would lie on her side, eyes closed, while Sharon plied the wire brush assiduously, clearing the fur off after four or five strokes and stuffing each little bundle into a pocket. Tundra, whose coat was still tight, would often try to eat the brush, or would otherwise interfere by biting Taiga, who, not unnaturally, would become annoyed and snarl at her brother. I don’t know just how much wool Sharon got from Taiga, except that it gradually filled two shopping bags while the wolf became sleeker and looked appreciably smaller. In due course, she emerged wearing a coat that was the colour of butterscotch on the back, sides, and flanks, and russet behind the ears, forehead, and legs. Most attractive.
Tundra began to molt three weeks after his sister. He, too, was brushed by Sharon, although much of his wool was rejected because, being a male, his guard hairs were more numerous, longer, and coarser and they became inextricably mixed with the wool. Guard hairs, I am told, have to be removed from the fur if this is to be spun: this intelligence may have gladdened Tundra’s heart, for he appeared to think that being brushed was beneath his dignity; he demonstrated this by seeking to bite the brush.
At this time we again began to get visitors. Some were repeaters and known to Tundra and Taiga, who always remembered them and greeted them profusely. Others were strangers, Most of these were also given enthusiastic welcomes. But one afternoon the arrival of a married couple elicited a surprising reaction from Taiga.
At first, both wolves rushed up to the fence, demonstrating their usual eagerness to greet the newcomers, but when we arrived at the wire and Tundra leaped up to greet the
female visitor, Taiga began to growl at him. As the male wolf persisted, his sister became more and more aggressive, biting him, pushing him down with her front paws, and even causing him to flop on his side and whine submissively while seeking to lick her. Unlike the two men whose stress had caused Tundra to react aggressively, Taiga clearly objected to the attention that her brother was trying to lavish on the woman. Although the wolf was directing her aggression at her brother, I thought it best to bring the visit to an end. Thinking about Taiga’s behaviour, I could only conclude that for some reason she had become jealous of the visitor.
Two weeks later, another couple arrived. They, too, were strangers to the wolves. On this occasion, it was Tundra who reacted aggressively toward Taiga when she sought to greet the man. Once again I had to interrupt the visit.
To date, the wolves have reacted in this way toward six visitors whom they have never seen before. Tundra has become aggressive toward Taiga on four occasions when she has sought to jump up and lick a male’s extended hand; Taiga has twice been aggressive toward Tundra when he has tried to greet a female visitor.
I hold to my initial conclusion: the wolves become jealous and direct their aggression toward each other rather than toward the object of their jealousy. But why is it that only certain individuals produce this reaction? If the wolves continue to demonstrate such selective jealousy, I hope that it will be possible to question the visitors without causing them embarrassment, for I am convinced that individual hormonal metabolism during the time of contact is responsible for the negative behaviour that both wolves have demonstrated. Meanwhile, I am encouraging those visitors who have already been made welcome by Tundra and Taiga to return periodically so that we may see if the behaviour of the wolves changes at any particular time. In this regard, talking with Mike Collins about the matter, we decided that since his wife, Lou, had not seen the wolves since they were two months old, he would bring her to visit them so that we might monitor their behaviour.
When Mike and Lou arrived, they walked down to the enclosure, but although almost a full year had elapsed since the cubs had seen Lou – and then on one occasion only – they immediately remembered her and made a great fuss over her. There the matter rests.
I have no doubt that jealousy is responsible for the other reactions and I feel confident that an individual’s hormonal activity at the time of arrival furnishes the scent that causes the jealousy, but there is much yet to be investigated. Beth Duman’s experience with Nahani supports the jealousy theory.
To this writing, Tundra and Taiga have received 109 visitors: only eight of them have produced negative behaviour. Significantly, when Tundra reacted aggressively upon detecting stress in the two male visitors mentioned earlier, Taiga retreated from them, ears back and tail between her legs, leaving Tundra to deal with them on his own. Furthermore, both wolves become mildly jealous of each other when Sharon and I are with them and we stop to caress one or the other. This is a twice-daily occurrence that has been taking place since they were only two months old: it demonstrates sibling rivalry. Usually, as soon as one of us bends to pat one wolf the other wolf rushes up and seeks our attention, at the same time growling at its sibling and biting it in a controlled fashion. But if only one of us is in the enclosure, there is no rivalry between them; they are then quite likely to station themselves on either side of Sharon or me so as to be petted simultaneously. Often under such circumstances, after the initial greeting, one wolf will go and lie down, perhaps ten feet away, content to rest while the other is getting attention. This is something that neither of them will do when we are both in the enclosure. Yet, at feeding times, neither is the least bit jealous of the other. In the morning, they still maintain their positions, Taiga in front of me and Tundra in front of Sharon. During the afternoon feed, they continue to trade bowls, or to feed out of the same one. At this time, also, if one comes to us to be caressed, the other doesn’t seem to object. And during the frequent play periods that we enjoy daily, neither of them exhibits rivalry and will often take turns at chasing and being chased.
Our wolves are now fourteen months old, and although each has strengthened the early characteristics that we observed in them, their individual personalities remain the same. There are occasions when both are stimulated at the same time regardless of weather, hour of the day, or any other influence that we can detect. In such a mood, they leap joyfully at us, nose into our clothing, lick us, and play-bite our fingers, but do so softly. Then they dash away, chasing one another, only to return to us, smiling and exuberant. On other occasions, especially after they have been particularly active during the night, they are sleepy and very loving, inviting caresses and refraining from competing with each other. Then there are the times when they are seriously preoccupied with their own affairs. It may be that a squirrel has perched itself high up in a tree within their enclosure and sits there shrieking at the wolves while eating spruce-cone seeds; or they may have found a fresh mole tunnel and are attempting to capture the animal. They become very interested when ducks land on our stream, or when they see one of our beavers swimming on the surface. Once, last spring, a large beaver surfaced within ten feet of the enclosure while we were walking with the cubs, and although the big rodent submerged quickly, Tundra and Taiga remained near the spot, waiting for it to reappear with the kind of patience that only a predator demonstrates. The beaver wisely kept away.
Apart from those occasions when they are so stimulated that nothing seems able to dampen their enthusiasm, I have noticed that they are as much affected by the weather as we are. On high-pressure days when the sun is strong and a cool breeze is present, they become extremely active and playful. Conversely, during periods of low pressure they are quiet, gentle, and seemingly lazy, and they yawn a lot, gaping wide and stretching their bodies at the same time. On really hot days they sleep a good deal, seeking out shady locations or retreating into the barn. The heat also depresses their appetites and they are more inclined to be solitary.
Daily, the wolves demonstrate some new behavioural trait the reason for which is often impossible to determine, even though I have been studying the species for so long; and although I am always intrigued and frustrated when I can’t understand their motives, I am not surprised. In fact, at those times when we cannot detect the underlying motives that prompt a particular kind of behaviour, I do not consider that we have failed, but rather that we have once again established that wolves are as individualistic as humans and that it is folly to ascribe to all members of the species those personal traits observed only in some of them. It is not so much the ways in which wolves act, but the reasons for their actions. It is easy to tell when a wolf is content, happy, excited, afraid, or aggressive, for they all demonstrate these emotions in more or less similar ways. The challenge is to be able to know why they are so motivated. Many behaviourists have all too readily formed hard-and-fast conclusions that purport to explain fully the behavioural motives of all wolves, but if it is borne in mind that sociologists and psychologists are still unable to understand all the personal motivations that prompt behaviour in humans, the reason for our failure to properly understand wolves (or any other species of animal) soon becomes apparent. Western man has for too long thought of himself as a super-being who is in no way to be compared with the ‘’brute beasts” with whom he must share the world environment. As a result, he has persistently denied that animals think, have emotions, and are capable of making individual decisions.
Such egotistic bias has caused many biologists and especially behaviourists to think of animals as purely mechanical creatures to be studied and described in clinical ways. These people consider as odious any attempt to compare the habits and behaviour of their “subjects” with those of humans, an attitude manifested in the contempt in which they hold those who dare to make such comparisons, accusing them of anthropomorphism. The term is borrowed from two Greek words, anthropos, meaning “man,” and morphus, meaning “shape.” Translat
ed into plain language, anthropomorphism ascribes human form or attributes to a being or thing that is not human, especially to a deity; it is therefore largely misused when it is applied to those of us who discuss animals in proper English.
When an investigator painstakingly avoids using human terms in order to describe the deportment of animals, such a person most often produces scientific papers that are almost incomprehensible to laymen and can only partially be understood by a colleague, even after several readings. At the same time, the champions of abstract description frequently confuse the perceptual abilities of humans with the perceptual capabilities of animals, which are much greater than our own. Thus they find it impossible to measure the total reality of life.
We cannot smell the world of the wolf, we cannot hear it, we certainly do not see it in its proper perspective, we cannot taste it, and we do not know how to come to terms with it. Instead, we blunder through it, believing that we are the masters of creation and refusing to accept that the “lower animals” are constantly in touch with the realities of the universe. If such an approach persists, humankind will continue to defy nature and will surely fail to secure the peace that it so desperately needs. But the wolf can teach us. With its uncanny perceptions and a social system that closely resembles our own, this much-persecuted animal can put us back in touch with our own realities, once we begin to understand and respect it.
In Praise of Wolves Page 24