I just remembered, this morning, that were slipping into wolf season, coyote season down here, on the mainland at least. Every February, wild canines in the Northern Hemisphere get in a romantic mood. When I lived above the Arctic Circle, along the bank of the upper Middle Fork of the Koyukuk River, the wolves would start howling, and rambling around in late January, getting organized for the breeding season. By late February, all the female wolves would come into heat at approximately the same time so that, when they threw their pups in the spring, the country would be full of tender little protein packages to keep mama’s milk flowing and on which the weaning pups could practice their murderous skills. Of course, it was still a long way until spring and the pack had to make a living until then. That’s where I came in. At the time, I had a bunch of sled dogs in the backyard and the wolves regarded them with the same sort of affection that truck drivers generally have for cream-filled pastries. My cabin sat on as sharp-cut bank about a dozen feet high above the flood plain of the Koyukuk River. It was an ideal situation for the wolves. They could skulk to within about 100 feet of the cabin, without ever showing themselves. So, every year, when those hot-mama wolves came into heat, the pack would troll them by, just under the lip of the cutbank, and let their heavenly scent, laden with all sort of erotic promises, drift into my dog lot. My dogs were mostly boys—as was the custom in those days—and when they got wind of those wild, canine babes, they went bananas. The wolves were inviting them out on a hot, diner date, where sled dog would, undoubtedly, be the featured entrée. The only dog that didn’t flip out during this annual ritual of temptation was Rebel, my leader, who everybody swore was part wolf himself, because of the way he carried himself and his piercing yellow eyes. When the wolves came around, old Reb would get real quiet, plaster himself like a coat of paint against the back wall of his doghouse, and wait until the temptation to dangerous liaisons passed. He knew what the score was and didn’t need a date that bad. He knew the only free lunch on the Koyukuk that night would be him, if he yielded to lust. Down here, on the island, we dont have wolves, or even coyotes, like they do on the mainland, but I have heard foxes vocalizing in my backyard. Its kind eerie to heard them barking, and screaming in the middle of the night. I look forward to it. Here are some examples of what I can look forward to: m.youtube/watch?v=J6NuhlibHsM
Posted on: Sun, 04 Jan 2015 21:12:07 +0000
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