(2PM EST – promoted by Nightprowlkitty)
He was the most beautiful and arrogant being I have ever met. Not arrogant in the nouveau rich, loud and flashy way, but one born of the quiet confidence of real power. He would, with a mere look, let you know every command was merely a suggestion, and whether he would deign to consider it.
Now, in these his waning days, he is becoming a house pet. In some ways I love that he is coming to me for comfort, vying for endless attention. In others, I am almost embarrassed for him. My wolf is becoming dog, and he is dying.
When this amazing being, the last of my pack dies, I feel like a part of my soul will be ever destroyed. I feel my own wildness being drawn away with his. I feel like a dog, too, always doing what I should be doing, instead of exactly what I want to. You see, I never tried to tame my wolves, nor redefine them in some image. The rules were few. The kitchen is mine. Don’t shit in my house. Anyone who comes through my door is pack. Yet, in a room full of eyes, his were often the only ones that saw me, got me. I could convey more with a flick of my eyes to him than a thousand words to a dog… or a human for that matter. They never lived with me because they had to, they chose me, chose to and never let you forget it. Especially Roo – he was no hybrid like my others- he is 100% wolf.
I was the girl with the tiny house, who raised wayward wolves. Now I am as domestic as the dogs that have come into the family to replace the wolves. What happened to the feeling that every day belonged only to me, and I got to choose what to do with it? I speak not pinning for irresponsibility, but the ultimate responsibility of choosing one’s actions with full knowledge and intent. What happened to the young strong girl who saw everything in the world as “merely a suggestion,” and chose whether or not I would deign to consider it?
Where is my wildness?
This is the day the Lord has made and let us be glad and rejoice in it. If wolves wrote the book, that would be the only line. Oh, and something about being patient with the cubs and making sure everyone eats. But really, that is it.
Wolves don’t answer to one another. Wolves choose to cooperate. Sure, there are alphas, but alphas only remain alphas by consensus. Wolves don’t demand anything of you, they see every moment on its own terms. They like when you are around, but have no problem when you are not… they are too busy living their own lives in their own world to give a thought to being proprietary. Pining for you is a dog thing. Wolves feel you even when you are gone.
I am trying to prepare myself for the loss of my best friend…. and the metaphor of my life for which he stands. It will be the end of an era. The end of the girl who raised wolves. The woman who was raised by wolves.
(for pictures of him and wolfsongs, go here: No time to re-embed it all this morning…)