Fear:
I forgot that a wolf is always wild..
I guess I got lost somewhere in the heartwarming process of
domesticating a wild animal and I took for granted its willingness to
bite. I trusted him. I pet him. I loved him and held him and put a
collar with a name on him. Beneath his rough fur I convinced myself
he was no more dangerous then a soft stuffed animal. I was wrong.
I found my wolf under the steps of my
house. He was crying, a weak and needy woof, and I felt for him. I
loured him inside my house with some dog food and a blanket and let
him sit on my living room floor. He sat quietly. I watched him for
quite some time,waiting for him to bite me, waiting for him to growl,
waiting for him to tear a hole in the couch or something. He did
nothing. He sat and looked at me, and eventually he fell asleep on
the blanket I'd set up for him with this head in the bowl of food. So
I left for work. I knew then that he was a wolf- I knew then that
when I got home he would attack me- and I knew it would be my own
fault for letting him in. I slowly opened my door, and he got up to
greet me. I was shaking with fear. I stood just inside the doorway,
the wolf next to me, and as my breathing got heavier I knew I was in
more and more danger. He went outside, and I collapsed onto the
couch. What was I doing with a wild animal in my house? What was I
doing alone with a wolf? Why had I possibly trusted him? Why had I
been so lucky with him? Why hadn't he already bitten me? What if he
was sick? I found myself wondering if I could even walk into a vet
with a wolf and have him treated. Then he knocked. The wolf was back
at my door with a robust bark, asking to be let back in before I had
even mustered enough thought and comfort to get off the couch and
unpack my work things. I let him in with no hesitance.
He wagged his tail
as he came through the door and sat back on his blanket. I petted
him, kind of hoping he would bite me. Not because I wanted to bitten
but because I knew that if he bit me just then- I could guiltlessly
put him back outside. He didn't bite me. So I loved him, I called
him into my bed and I loved him. I pet him and I kissed him all night
and I thanked him for being so kind and gentle. I told him I wasnt
sure which one of us was wild- because here I was with a wolf in my
bed! I told him he could stay for as long as he wanted to and I slept
well holding him close.
I bought him a
collar and a crate and I came home to him every night for a year or
so. He became a pet to me, he became a best friend to me, I called
him Duke and he seemed to like that. Then one night, a Thursday
night, I let him out after dinner and waited for his usual bark to be
let back in- but it never came. The next morning I got up and
couldn't work- so I searched for him all day. I called his name, I
looked everywhere and I couldn't find him anywhere. I was devastated.
I had trusted him and I shouldnt have. I had loved something wild
against all my better senses and time caught up with me and forced me
to learn my lesson. Sixteen nights went by without him. Then I heard
it, his bark outside the door that meant he was ready to be let in. I
answered him.
It has been almost
fourteen weeks that Duke has been in the house again. He somewhere
outside lost the name tag on his collar, and I have yet to get a new
one made. I shake when he sleeps next to me, almost as bad as I shook
while he was gone. I am hesitant to pet him now, though I sometimes
do, because I know he can smell my fear- and worse yet, I know he
likes it. I know he likes knowing I can no trust him and I can not
turn him out. He likes knowing he has the upper hand and that he
could turn on me at any second. He likes to come up to me like he
still loves me even, he likes to rub his head on my lap- but then he
likes to growl. He sometimes doesnt come back for a couple days,
because he doesnt care when he hears me calling. Ive even seen him
stand just on the top of the hill at the bottom of my street and howl
at the moon instead of me. He likes to make me feel inadequate like
that, he always wants me to know I will have never done enough for
him. He wants me to know that he will never consistently love me,
that he will never consistently come home to me, and that I wall
never consistently satisfy him. He wants me to know that just because
he wants my pets doesnt mean he is my pet, and doesnt mean he is any
less of a wolf- or that I should be any less scared of him.
I am scared of him.
Scared that he will hurt me. Scared that he will leave me. Scared
that he will wreck the home I have built for him. But most of all, I
am scared that each day will be one of the days he doesnt care about
me. And thats how it is loving a wolf and letting yourself forget
just what he is.
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