By Charles Towne
“Mr. Towne, how would you like to have a wolf?”
And thus it began.
Egore was his name.
Somebody had purchased him in British Colombia, Canada.
The seller had killed the tiny wolf pup’s mother, sparing the pup with the idea of selling him to some gullible bleeding heart in the states.
Egore grew up in captivity, and over the next three years, he traveled from B.C. Canada to Montana, and then to Michigan; shuffled back and forth until he came into my temporary care.
Egore, 120 lbs. of energetic wolf molecules wrapped in a lovely gray fur coat would make an interesting addition to my menagerie of wildlings, primarily made up of my half-wild familial brood comprised of my little girl Faithy, and three males, Chuck Jr., Theodore, and Russy.
From the time of his capture, he had never known what it was to run wild and free as he was meant to be.
Confined by a heavy chain his life was anything but that which he was intended to be.
Somewhat intimidating to the uninitiated, there was no mistaking his ancestry.
I will never forget the evening the lady came to the house trying to sell me some life insurance. My family and I were all seated around the kitchen table listening to the lady’s sales spiel. I had told her upfront that she was wasting her time, after all, what did I need life insurance for? She droned on, and on, and on in an effort to reduce us into walking zombies, or a comatose state, whichever came first.
She knew that I couldn’t hold out much longer.
She was about to hand me her pen when, as if on cue Egore enters, stage right. Quiet as a ghost he padded across the room, and stood at the lady’s side with his chin resting on the table, staring into her eyes.
She glanced at him, reached out and patted him on the head; and said, “Nice doggy.” and turned back to me. Then she became very still as she turned back to Egore, and in a very still voice exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, it isn’t a dog is it?
” Without any expression, I said, “Nope, wolf.”
We were all somewhat surprised by how quickly the insurance lady vanished, and no; Egore didn’t eat her.
There were those times when he would stand and stare into the distance, into infinity; or so it seemed. I wondered what he was sensing at those times? Could something have been pulling him, drawing him back to the wild where he belonged?
At such times as this, he would vocalize.
Why does a wolf howl? Does he, out of the foggy mists of past generations of his kind feel a summons back to the wild?
We were closing in on a home for Egore. There was a captive breeding program in a western state that was very interested in our male.
They told me that they were in the process of finishing a compound comprised of several hundred acres where a semi-wild wolf pack would be allowed to run in comparative freedom, and they wanted to pick him up in the next two weeks.
Wild animals are just that, wild animals. Be it a badger, or a bear; it is a wild animal. All of its being is wild, and it belongs in the wild. People that have the idea that a wild animal will make a wonderful pet are deluded, and sooner or later, either the human or the animal pays the price. The glamour of owning, possessing, a wild animal is not so glamorous when that which was once a vibrant, and beautiful creature is lying dead with a bullet in its brain.
When the children were playing Egore would lay and watch them, until that day when one of my sons ran past him.
It could have been bad, very bad. Only by the grace and intervention of a merciful God did it end up the way it did.
One moment the boy was running, the next he was laying on his back with Egore on top of him; those powerful jaws clamped on my son’s throat.
I shouted, “No Egore, No!”
The wolf shifted his eyes to mine, and I could see the wildfire in those gold green orbs. He stared at me for a moment longer, and then that fire dimmed and vanished.
He stood, sniffed at my son, nuzzled him playfully, walked a short distance away and sat down, watching me all the while, after all, I was the Alpha animal in his pack.
I retrieved my son who was not injured in any way other than a bit of wolf drool.
From my understanding Egore lived out his life out west in the confines of that large compound with others of his kind, but wouldn’t it have been better if he had been allowed to roam free where he was intended?
Dear Papa God, we thank you for watching over us and preserving us. If we could see the times that you have intervened and by your doing so we have lived somewhat long, if not normal lives. Praise you Father, and thank you for your magnificent love, Amen
Charles Towne is first and foremost a Christian. An octogenarian, author, journalist, wildlife photographer, naturalist, caregiver, and survivor, his life has been and continues to be, a never-ending adventure filled with possibilities never imagined. He has adopted the philosophy that to Live fully, laugh uproariously, love passionately, and learn like there is no tomorrow, is a formula for a long and joy-filled life.