What was unusual about the pen was that Kathy had told us to build it in a stand of birches, popples, and cedars. Shadow, she said, would want cover where he could conceal himself from watchful eyes. On my behalf she had contacted wolf biologists and operators of wolf dog sanctuaries in the United States and Canada, and she’d come back with a warning. Even though Shadow had been raised in a human home, his years as an apex predator in the wild had changed him in ways no one could predict—and wolf dogs were already notorious for being dangerously erratic. Hard as it was to accept, I might never be able to enter that pen in safety.
As he always did, Charley was reading my mind.
“How sure are you he won’t rip out your throat someday when you’re in there rubbing his chin?”
“There are worse ways to go.”
“That’s true. He could always disembowel you and eat you alive.” Charley paused as Ora wheeled herself back out onto the porch. “Even with your warden buddies giving you carcasses, your pet-food bill is going to be higher than most folks’ mortgages.”
“Kathy knows the owner of a slaughterhouse who can cut me a deal on offal.”
“Welcome to your glamorous new life,” said my old friend with a slap on the shoulders.
“There’s Kathy now,” said Ora, leaning forward in her chair.
Sure enough, a Nissan Xterra SUV was idling down the drive, the slowness being deliberate so that the Cronklets could run along behind in excited expectation. I had warned them against shouting lest they disturb Kathy’s passenger.
Charley and I carried Ora in her wheelchair down the porch stairs (I needed to hire Billy to build me a ramp) and we all convened beside the open gate.
Kathy swung down out of her vehicle, looking years younger than the last time we’d seen each other in person. She’d lost her spleen to a gunshot and still carried pellets inside her that threatened to work their way to her heart. But in that moment, standing in a beam of sunlight, she seemed to be the freckled, sandy-haired, former college basketball star I remembered from my first day as a game warden.
“Thanks for handling the transport,” I said.
“Lizzie Holman sent along some meds you’re going to need to put in his food. She thinks he’s past the point of infection but wants to be safe. Don’t be surprised if she stops in for a visit the next time she’s on the Midcoast.”
“Can we see him now?” asked little Emma.
“In a minute, honey,” said Kathy. “Did your uncle Mike already talk to you about how Shadow isn’t the same as other dogs you’ve met before?”
Emma’s brother Aiden answered on behalf of all the Cronklets: “He said we have to tie our shoelaces and can’t wear anything made out of fur or have any dangly things hanging off us. And we have to be calm and quiet.”
“What about your hands?”
“Keep them away from the wolf!”
“Sounds like Uncle Mike has done a good job with the safety course.” Kathy turned to Billy and me. “I’m going to let the stud muffins carry his kennel out of the vehicle. That animal is a heavy son of a gun.”
Aimee came strolling down the drive at last, her cheek still bruised from where Hoyt had hit her with the butt of his rifle, and looking worried in a mother-hen fashion. “Kids, stay out of their way. OK?”
“Don’t yell, Mom,” her son Brady said.
“Right. Sorry.”
Holman had given Shadow a tranquilizer for the road, but when Kathy opened the lift gate on the Xterra, he let out a terrific snarl from inside the enormous carrier in which he was imprisoned. The Cronklets scattered. Little Emma went running for the safety of her mother’s arms.
Billy and I took hold of opposite ends of the plastic crate and lifted with our legs. The animal shifted position inside, pressing his butt to my end so he was facing the cage door, ready to attack or escape. We carried him through the gate and set the box down about ten feet in.
“Now what?” Billy asked.
“You get out of here. He’s not going to be happy when I open the door.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” I understood Billy was talking about his own recent experience, except that in this case Shadow was merely being released from one small cell into a larger jail.
I’d thawed a deer haunch and left it on a raised ledge I thought the wolf might claim as a throne since it offered such a sweeping view of the surroundings. With luck he’d catch wind of the meat and make a dash for it. Kathy had said it was more likely he would sprint around the entire perimeter of the enclosure looking for an exit he would never find.
“Hold the gate for me so I can get out fast,” I said.
“Will do.”
I waited until Billy was clear, then I lifted the rod that held the crate door shut. I wasn’t planning on opening it for him; he’d find he could push it ajar himself. But I was caught off guard when he charged out mere seconds after I’d lifted the bolt.
I stumbled backward, ended up catching my foot on something, and sat down hard on the ground.
The wolf turned, the black ruff along his shoulders raised, fangs exposed. He still had that raggedy appearance from where the shaved skin for the bandages had been and where the hair was growing back. But his gold eyes were as hard as metal, and they were filled with an emotion I hesitate to name; but if I had to, I would call it grievance. He knew that he was my prisoner, and I was his jailer. His intelligent gaze seemed to announce that, whatever expectations I might’ve had about this arrangement, he would never submit, never again be a pet, would always remain wild at heart. He was no more mine than I was his.
“Mike?” said Kathy, the warning
