Wolves

Tuckered out by our adventure of yesterday, Dog of was not interested in a walk until after dark this evening.  Street lamps are dim, few and far between in this rural town, so we chose to walk south along the quieter street.  The air smells of melting snow; the jet stream is moving north and tomorrow promises highs in the low 40°s.

I slept badly last night -- maybe too much espresso.  It occurred to me as I lay awake, listening to the odd clicks and rhythmic creaks of the house, that I'm not frightened at night here.  The doors lock, but there's glass right next to the handle, so that's a trivial obstacle for a professional. The surrounding area is dark, good for getaways.  There is a dog, but she's so deaf she'd only react after being tripped over.  I don't know most of the neighbors, and cars speed down this street to busier streets nearby all the time. Yet I'm never spooked.

But tonight, in the starlit darkness between street lamps (which is to say, pretty durn dark), I realized that I could hear wolves howling.  There's a wolf preserve about a mile from the Heartbreak House, if that far. They were making long hulloos, with lots of little yips chiming in (pups?). (You can hear something like it, without the yips, on the home page of the preserve by clicking here: Wolf Hollow.) It was a happy, convivial sound, of creatures communicating, sharing, celebrating. Glad to be alive and in the pack, and glad to tell everybody about it.

I like wolves -- HOWL (Help Our Wolves Live) was the first progressive group I was ever a proud, card-carrying member of (although I joined because my big brother did, and because we thought our pet husky was 1/4 wolf). I know that wolves don't attack without provocation. I know that these wolves are in a compound with 8-foot walls, and have daily human interaction. But those howls tickled the back of my neck; there seemed to be danger in the dark. I found myself thinking of werewolves, dancing around a fire (because even my subconscious knows I have more to fear from humanoids than from wolves). I found myself welcoming the occasional car on the road, and wishing more people had lights on their mailboxes.

I reminded myself that even though I could hear them, they were clearly at a distance.  The time to worry, with creatures in the night, is when you can't hear them -- that's when you don't know where they are.  Even so, Dog of and I returned home not long after.