THIS OLD HOUSE - LOB0 STYLE

Vern Hopkins

The old he-wolf was shaded up under the edge of a chokecherry bush. Ever testing the wind with his super-keen sense of smell, he was aware of everything that was happening in the meadow that stretched out below him. A bear had been working the berry bushes down along the creek but was gone now. Some elk were down there; grazing along and bedding down for short naps in the mid-morning sunshine. It was June, the calving month, and a few elk calves were playing baby elk games and having little stiff-legged races. Satisfied that his corner of the world was okay, the wolf got up, stretched the cramps out of his legs, yawned and trotted back up the little valley.

The den, in the rimrock up above the next fringe of timber, was home to his mate and four six-week-old pups. The pair had used this rock-protected hole for several years and had raised a few batches of pups here. On his way home the wolf jumped a blue grouse and, quick as a lightning flash, he had the slow-witted bird in his jaws. This would give the young pups something to practice their survival skills on.

Circling around to get with the wind he approached the den from the east and picked up the alarming but not unfamiliar scent of man and horse. Always alert to what was needed to protect his household, he melted into the grass and studied the situation. He stashed the dead grouse in the rocks and, like a ghost, drifted back into the shadows to scope out this latest intrusion.

A horse and rider topped the rimrock ledge upwind from the den. The old lobo knew his mate well enough to know that she and the pups were well-hidden. A master stalker, he had no trouble being invisible in the sparse timber as he followed the horse. The rider didn’t seem to be hunting; it looked like he was just riding through. The wolf trailed along anyway just to make sure. When he was satisfied that the threat had dissolved he worked his way cautiously back toward home. Seeing no activity around the den, he scouted a big loop around his territory “reading his newspaper” (that is his sniffing posts and markers) and analyzing the information carried on the wind. His nose told him that his world was secure and that mom and the kids were still safely tucked into their hide-away home in the rocks.

The he-wolf backtracked and picked up the grouse. Back at the den he placed the prize on the ground and called to the pups. They tumbled out into the daylight and the four of them immediately started a tug-o-war with the dead bird.

The old wolf smiled to himself. For the moment, all is well in wolfdom.