Wolf Stories, Tonka

October 6, 2002. we waited for our new pack to arrive. There is something very special about October.

I had received an email from Frank with accompanying photos showing two scared and skinny wolf-dogs in small cement cell blocks, their faces turned in to the corners, their eyes downcast. They and a third, as yet at large, were in need of immediate placement. “What do you think?” Frank’s email had read.

What a dumb question.

And so we waited, again anxious, again nervous, but this time with a little bit of knowledge and experience to our credit. And when the truck arrived (again from Arkansas! – what are the odds?) and we opened the tailgate, the three sweet faces told the same story of abuse, neglect, and dejection as had our first pack the year before.

Tonka, Noel, and Ozark (but always called Ozzie) were their names, bestowed upon them during the trip to Colorado by the Wolf rescue mission leader, who had driven down to get them. No one else had ever bothered. You can read about this rescue in the Fall 2002 Newsletter.

Again, their background is fragmented. Apparently some genius had decided to populate the Ozarks with wolves and had begun a breeding operation in his backyard. He then abruptly departed, leaving his girlfriend with no money, no explanation, and fifteen wolf-dogs. She had neither the means nor the aptitude to care for them. (“It was scary there,” the rescue mission leader said later, “We’re talking no teeth, and no brains.”)

The jilted girlfriend, well-intentioned at least, had called the local Humane Society for help, unaware that wolves and wolf-dogs are considered non-adoptable by Humane Societies nationwide, and therefore euthanized. Although the volunteer at the Humane Society searched nationwide for a life-saving solution, none was available. The girlfriend just wanted them gone, she called the Sheriff, who went out to the property and engaged in target practice. All dogs were shot except the ones the Sheriff couldn’t aim at fast enough. And so Tonka, Noel, and their half-brother Ozzie, watched all of their family members die by the Ozark County Sheriff’s gun.

He would have been back for them, but the Humane Society volunteer again intervened, asking him to please stop until placement could be found for the three survivors. This time Wolf had an empty enclosure available at a foster home. And so the mission leader found the two in their holding cells at that same Humane Society, and my sweet little Ozzie alone, running around on the property that had been the killing field for his family.

That is how the three terrified faces now before us, had come to us. We were sickened and horrified by what they had been through in their young lives. They were only eight months old.

We opened their travel kennels in the dark of night, and set about the task of making our new foster kids feel whole and safe again.

Ozzie was hit the hardest by all he had witnessed and endured. He was suffering. He paced endlessly, neurotically, around and around the front dog house, like a caged lion. When we entered he shook and tripped over his own feet to get as far away from us as possible. Worse, he was not neutered and had heartworm, while Tonka and Noel were neutered and spayed and had been treated for heartworm already. So little Ozzie had to be darted again and neutered, and then isolated for a week. He would put his paws up on the separation wall in the enclosure’s center, wondering why he couldn’t be with his only remaining family. We spent time with him, talking and trying to soothe, but he really wanted them. Finally, he was well and we were able to remove the center barrier and let them be together. That was a tremendous help to him emotionally and within two more weeks he stopped the regular pacing, though for several months he reverted to that behavior when strangers were present.

Again, we set a routine and stuck to it, to show them that here with us, life would be good to them. We are always careful to keep the same pattern of scooping, watering, and feeding. It is very important for the foster kids to see that life will have this safety feature; that they can count on their foster parents; that no more ugly surprises are likely in store. And again, they finally learned to believe, though they still become agitated in the presence of any humans other than us.

This pack loves to jump and play. “King or Queen of the Doghouse” remains one of their favorite games; whoever stays on the doghouse roof the longest and jumps on their siblings the most, wins. Noel proved to be the most delightfully mischievous, eating flowers in bloom while staring straight into my eyes and stealing sprinkler heads from the yard, trotting away with her prizes and hiding them in their ‘apartment,’ as my husband has taken to calling their enclosure, and grabbing the back of my coat at feeding time. Tonka is the calm and collected overseer, sitting back in his majestic splendor and observing all, ever watchful for the safety of his pack. And Ozzie is…Ozzie. With his rough start behind him, he is a sweet, happy, boy, and the spokesdog of the pack. He has a lot to talk about, and he loves to talk about it all at top volume while bouncing. He likes to go on poop-scooping duty with me, and proudly goes ahead of me to point out the next offering, standing by it and grinning.

In the heat of summer they stand under the sprinkler with stupendous smiles on their radiant faces, or fish for ice in their large metal tub. And with every yard time, they run and run, back and forth, and I can’t help but think of our first pack on release day, when they were introduced to their final home and ran like the wind. And I reflect on how that pack changed physically in their new home, how their muscles grew so big and strong, with so much room to exercise, and how much bigger those muscles looked with each subsequent visit. And though I know we made our first pack happy, nothing can take the place of the feeling of spacious freedom.

These beautiful creatures, Tonka, Noel, and Ozzie, have been in our care for eighteen months, and we have to remind ourselves that it cannot go on forever. One day very soon the call will come, and we will receive the news that permanent placement has been arranged in a very large space. We will bear the news as graciously as possible, and our tears will flow freely once again. But their freedom, health and happiness are the only acceptable end results to their stories. They are the reasons we do this work.

Soon our present foster kids, too, will go Home.