Kane revisited

I spent some time with the wolf today. Kane seemed to be in the same sort of melancholy mood as me so I lounged with him on a bed for a while. His mind is too sharp to be wasted on domesticity. His body is too big and ungainly to inhabit human walls. His fur is too beautiful to be seen as a nuisance when he sheds. Outside it would blow away. Outside he could hunt and use his mind and senses. Outside he could flow through the forest and choose his own path rather than following the cramped hallways of the built world.

But instead he waits and waits for his owner to come home and stares into my eyes. He is only marginally interested in me, I'm more like a buddy to commiserate with than a true friend to him, but for now he considers me with calmness that implies deep understanding. The luster of his eyes reminds me of my grandmother. She would look at me and tell a story, with all the expression in the world in her voice and hands, but then after she was done laughing about it she would become so calm for a moment and look out the window at the birds. With her profiled like that I could see the white sides of her eyes, the red veins, and the yellow from cigarette tar or age creeping up her stained fingers.

I could still see the brown of her iris as well, and the combination of all those colors, dull, glazed colors, regarding nature out the window while she sat there with me was so memorable. To sit with someone much younger and relate to him on his level must be difficult, perhaps in order to continue she needed to stop, inhale smoke and let the imprinted images of her many years looking out that window compare with what was out there now. To look away from this vibrant youth, so demanding of attention, into something else; the past or another world perhaps. That was the way Kane looked away from me.

I am older than Kane in years, but he inherited many years from his parents. He inherited wisdom and sadness and stories of genocide so I will never question if it is he or I that is older. Nor which one of us is closer to our deaths. There are gray hairs on his chin and he moves slowly. He nuzzled his head into my belly and it was almost the size of my torso. It was humbling to know that I was so close to an animal's mouth that could crush my muscles and bones until I could no longer flee and then roll me over and eat me alive like an elk-but that's something a wolf will do with a pack and Kane has none.

His ears pricked up all of a sudden and his eyes left mine to disappear again into another world. When the noise of traffic outside lulled I could hear what had gotten his attention. A dog howling in the neighborhood across the street. Like my grandma, Kane retired from me for a moment, perhaps intensely remembering or trying to forget. Either way he was entranced and though I petted him I got no response from the focused wolf. Then the washing machine upstairs turned on and drowned out any sound coming from outside. First Kane's ears collapsed then his head fell down onto my leg with a loud sigh.

What is my role in all this? How have I affected wolves in the world? How will I affect them in the future? I can only hope that Kane and his kin will always thrive. 10,000 generations from now, maybe wolves in Montana will howl about Kane. How he was taken away. How he was heard from the city down below, hollaring about a blue eyed boy that sang too much and took up too much space on his bed.