Mysterious Visitor Returns To Woods
Early on the morning of the last big snowfall this year - Feb. 15 to be exact, a Wednesday - in woods north of Spokane a man I know was comfortably installed on the throne of his backhouse when he had a visitor. I should point out that my friend’s morning visit to his outdoor comfort station is a sort of ritual. He’s big on rituals. He and his wife have a comfortable getaway in the country, a lady’s and gentleman’s farm, with all the modern conveniences, even indoor plumbing. But he loves rural living, and when they are in the country his morning visit to the outhouse contains an element of homage. Homage with a pleasant view of woods and hills beyond.
In woods north of Spokane, by the way, is all I’m going to tell you about where this happened. Whether in Washington or Idaho I won’t divulge. Sorry, I’m sworn to secrecy.
Snow was falling hard - the storm dumped six inches before it passed - and my friend was absorbed in the mysterious beauty of it swirling in his woods when there was a motion at his left foot. Looking down, he saw the head of “the biggest dog I have seen in a long time.” The animal was too busy sniffing to notice my friend.
Being a countryman, my friend is accustomed to roving dogs. He has a standard procedure for urging them along. “HEY!” he yells, waving his arms.
“HEY!” he yelled instinctively, but it didn’t produce the usual startled response. Instead, the creature casually looked up at my friend, noticing him for the first time.
“His eyes locked on mine. Then, in a relaxed fashion, he trotted away.”
My friend leaned out and watched him go. He says the animal looked back calmly a couple of times before his dark shape dematerialized like smoke.
The creature had an enormous head, pointy ears that “were not too big,” was charcoal gray - “a bit grizzled” - carried his bushy tail straight out, possessed an insouciant gait suggesting a waltz, exuded an air of confidence as though he owned the place, and the last thing my friend noticed before his visitor disappeared was that he was wearing an unusual heavy collar.
“I’m pretty sure it was a radio collar.”
Back in the house, my friend reported the encounter to his wife.
“Coyote?” she said.
“No, it wasn’t a coyote. I think it was a wolf.”
The couple went back out into the snow with a chart of animal tracks, and like a team of field biologists they took measurements and compared their findings to the chart. The creature’s paws measured 4 1/2 inches across. The tracks showed a 25-inch stride, and the print of the hind paw overlapped the print of the forepaw, distinctive signature of the long-distance hunter.
“Yeah, it was probably a wolf all right,” said the government biologist they phoned with their account.
I was told this story as a friend. Because the dog is made possible by a major genetic grant from the wolf, I consider wolf news a legitimate part of the dog beat. But when I told my source and his wife that I wanted to do a column about the incident, they balked. They’re part of a cabal that holds that people are merely one of the earth’s tenants, not the almighty landlord. They are afraid that those of the landlord mentality would start gunning for wolves, despite the illegality, if they knew they were around.
Since I am a part of the same conspiracy - a conspiracy I happen to believe is growing; I hope so anyway - I assured my friend that I would withhold details of the affair if I could please share it. He agreed on the grounds that epiphanies should not be covered up entirely.
Chief Seattle once rhetorically asked white people what they say to their children on cold winter nights so that they will wish for tomorrow. I consider this a question worthy of permanent consideration, and I’m always looking for a good answer.
To me wolves in nearby woods are such a hopeful sign that if any children are reading this, I have this to say, though only in a whisper: “The wolves are back!”