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I had just finished washing the lunch dishes when the screen door slammed and
Becky rushed in, cheeks flushed with
excitement. "Mama!" she cried, "Come see my new doggy! "I gave him water two
times already. He's so thirsty!"
I sighed, another of Becky's imaginary dogs.
"Please come, Mama." She tugged at my jeans, her brown eyes pleading,
"He's crying -- and he can't walk!"
"Can't walk?" Now that was a twist. All her previous make-believe dogs
could do marvelous things. One balanced a
ball on the end of its nose. Another dug a hole that went all the way through
the earth and fell out on a star
on the other side. Still another danced on a tightrope. Why suddenly a dog
that couldn't walk?
"All right, honey," I said. By the time I tried to follow her,
Becky had already disappeared into the mesquite.
"Where are you?" I called.
"Over here by the oak stump. Hurry, Mama!"
I parted the thorny branches and raised my hand against the glare of the
Arizona sun. A numbing chill gripped me.
There she was, sitting on her heels, toes dug firmly in the sand, and
cradled in her lap was the unmistakable
head of a wolf! Beyond its head rose massive black shoulders. The rest
of the body lay completely hidden inside
the hollow stump of a fallen oak.
"Becky," My mouth felt dry. "Don't move." I stepped closer.
Pale-yellow eyes narrowed. Black lips tightened,
exposing double sets of two-inch fangs. Suddenly the wolf trembled.
Its teeth clacked, and a piteous whine rose from its throat.
"It's all right, boy," Becky crooned. "Don't be afraid. That's my mama,
and she loves you, too."
Then the unbelievable happened. As her tiny hands stroked the great shaggy
head, I heard the gentle thump, thump,
thumping of the wolf's tail from deep inside the stump. What was wrong
with the animal? I wondered. Why couldn't
he get up? I couldn't tell. Nor did I dare to step any closer.
I glanced at the empty water bowl. My memory flashed back to the five skunks
that last week had torn the burlap
from a leaking pipe in a frenzied effort to reach water during the final
agonies of rabies. Of course! Rabies!
Warning signs had been posted all over the county, and hadn't Becky said,
"He's so thirsty?" I had to get Becky away.
"Honey." My throat tightened. "Put his head down and come to Mama.
We'll go find help."
Reluctantly, Becky got up and kissed the wolf on the nose before she
walked slowly into my outstretched arms.
Sad yellow eyes followed her. Then the wolf's head sank to the ground.
With Becky safe in my arms, I ran to
the barns where Brian, one of our cowhands, was saddling up to check heifers
in the North pasture. "Brian!
Come quickly. Becky found a wolf in the oak stump near the wash! I think it
has rabies!"
"I'll be there in a jiffy," he said as I hurried back to the house, eager
to put Becky down for her nap.
I didn't want her to see Brian come out of the bunkhouse. I knew he'd have
a gun.
"But I want to give my doggy his water," she cried. I kissed her and gave
her some stuffed animals to play with.
"Honey, let Mom and Brian take care of him for now," I said. Moments later,
I reached the oak stump.
Brian stood looking down at the beast. "It's a Mexican lobo, all right."
He said, " And a big one!"
The wolf whined. Then we both caught the smell of gangrene. "Whew!
It's not rabies," Brian said. "But he's sure hurt
real bad. Don't you think it's best I put him out of his misery?"
The word "yes" was on my lips, when Becky emerged from the bushes.
"Is Brian going to make him well, Mama?"
She hauled the animal's head onto her lap once more, and buried her
face in the coarse, dark fur.
This time I wasn't the only one who heard the thumping of the lobo's tail.
That afternoon my husband, Bill, and our veterinarian came to see the wolf.
Observing the trust the animal had in our child,
Doc said to me, "Suppose you let Becky and me tend to this fella together."
Minutes later, as child and vet reassured
the stricken beast, the hypodermic found its mark. The yellow eyes closed.
"He's asleep now," said the vet. "Give me a hand here, Bill." They hauled
the massive body out of the stump. The animal
must have been over five feet long and well over a hundred pounds.
Bullets had mutilated the wolf’s hip and leg.
Doc did what he had to in order to clean the wound and then gave the patient
a dose of penicillin. Next day he returned
and inserted a metal rod to replace the missing bone.
"Well, it looks like you've got yourselves a Mexican lobo," Doc said.
"He looks to be about three years old, and even
as pups, they don't tame real easy. I’m amazed at the way this big fella
took to your little gal. But often there's
something that goes on between children and animals that we grownups
don't understand."
Becky named the wolf Ralph and carried food and water to the stump every day.
Ralph's recovery was not easy.
For three months he dragged his injured hindquarters by clawing the earth
with his front paws.
From the way he lowered his eyelids when we massaged the atrophied limbs,
we knew he endured excruciating pain,
but not once did he ever try to bite the hands of those who cared for him.
Four months to the day, Ralph finally stood unaided. His huge frame shook
as long- unused muscles were activated.
Bill and I patted and praised him. But it was Becky to whom he turned for
a gentle word, a kiss or a smile.
He responded to these gestures of love by swinging his busy tail like a
pendulum. As his strength grew, Ralph followed Becky all over the ranch.
Together they roamed the desert pastures, the golden-haired child often
stooping low, sharing with the great
lame wolf whispered secrets of nature's wonders. When evening came,
he returned like a silent shadow to his hollow
stump that had surely become his special place.
As time went on, although he lived primarily in the brush, the habits of
this timid creature endeared him more and more
to all of us. His reaction to people other than our family was yet another
story. Strangers terrified him,
yet his affection for and protectiveness of Becky brought him out of the
desert and fields at the sight of every
unknown pickup or car. Occasionally he'd approach, lips taut, exposing
a nervous smile full of chattering teeth.
More often he'd simply pace and finally skulk off to his tree stump,
perhaps to worry alone.
Becky's first day of school was sad for Ralph. After the bus left,
he refused to return to the yard. Instead,
he lay by the side of the road and waited.
When Becky returned, he limped and tottered in wild, joyous circles
around her. This welcoming ritual persisted throughout her school years.
Although Ralph seemed happy on the ranch, he disappeared into the
surrounding deserts and mountains for several weeks
during the spring mating season, leaving us to worry about his safety.
This was calving season, and fellow ranchers
watched for coyotes, cougars, wild dogs and, of course, the lone wolf.
But Ralph was lucky.
During Ralph's twelve years on our ranch, his habits remained unchanged.
Always keeping his distance,
he tolerated other pets and endured the activities of our busy family,
but his love for Becky never wavered.
Then the spring came when our neighbor told us he'd shot and killed a
she-wolf and grazed her mate,
who had been running with her. Sure enough, Ralph returned home with
another bullet wound. Becky, nearly fifteen years
old now, sat with Ralph's head resting on her lap. He, too, must have
been about fifteen and was gray with age.
As Bill removed the bullet, my memory raced back through the years.
Once again I saw a chubby three-year-old girl
stroking the head of a huge black wolf and heard a small voice murmuring,
"It's all right, boy. Don't be afraid.
That's my mama, and she loves you, too."
Although the wound wasn't serious, this time Ralph didn't get well.
Precious pounds fell away. The once luxurious fur
turned dull and dry, and his trips to the yard in search of Becky's
companionship ceased. All day long he rested quietly.
But when night fell, old and stiff as he was, he disappeared into the
desert and surrounding hills. By dawn his food
was gone. The morning came when we found him dead. The yellow eyes were closed.
Stretched out in front of the oak stump, he appeared but a shadow of the
proud beast he once had been.
A lump in my throat choked me as I watched Becky stroke his shaggy neck,
tears streaming down her face.
"I'll miss him so," she cried.
Then as I covered him with a blanket a strange rustling sound from inside
the stump startled us. Becky looked inside.
Two tiny yellow eyes peered back and puppy fangs glinted in the semidarkness.
Ralph's pup!
Had a dying instinct told him his motherless offspring would be safe here,
as he had been, with those who loved him?
Hot tears spilled on baby fur as Becky gathered the trembling bundle in her arms.
"It's all right, little . . . Ralphie," she murmured. "Don't be afraid.
That's my mom, and she loves you, too."
