Papa Jon! The Wolf Won't Play With Us!
by: Jon Crane

Saturday Ramblins, Vol. 2, No. 3 (February 6, 1999)

I've never said much publicly about Dusty. Dusty was my best friend and companion for almost 14 years. Dusty was also a timber wolf.

Dusty was a domesticated wolf, so-called because she was one-eighth malamute. This constitutes the maximum fraction of domestic genes an animal may have and still be considered a wolf. Any more than that and it is referred to as a "wolf dog". This small amount of domesticated breeding takes the edge off the wolf's desire to revert to the wild. However by behavior, Dusty was all wolf.

For one thing, the wolf is less of a pet and more of a companion. They are virtually untrainable. Whether it's commands to "sit" or "come" or parlor tricks like "shaking hands", the wolf is not going to understand exactly what is being asked of it. It might be interesting to note that in movies such as Dances with Wolves, it was not a wolf used in the title role. It was an animal that had a strong resemblance to a wolf. Wolves are untrainable.

Wolves will not "play" or interact with you to the same degree a domesticated dog will. It goes back to the companion aspect of the relationship. In our pack (family), Dusty treated me as the alpha (or head) male and she assumed the role of the alpha female. In nature, each wolf pack is dominated by an alpha pair usually mated for life. They are the only ones who breed. The other males in the pack assist with hunting while the other females cooperate with the alpha female in raising the cubs.

If Dusty and I were the alpha pair, the girls were our cubs. When they were small and played out-of-doors, she was ever vigilant of them preferring to stay outside their circle of play and watch over them. It used to frustrate the kids. "Papa Jon!" they'd cry. "The wolf won't play with us!"

When the first snows came in the fall, some ancient mechanism inside Dusty kicked in. Right before the ground froze, she'd dig a larder. She'd proceed to catch star-face moles from the woods and place them in the larder (sort of a wolf deep-freezer). Even though she was well fed, periodically throughout the winter she'd open her larder, remove a mole and eat half of it. The other half, she'd drop at my feet.

One of the most amazing things I ever witnessed with her was her ability to camouflage herself. Dusty was pure white except for a light dusting of tan across her back. I've seen her dig out a hole in a large snowdrift, back into it and hunker down. As soon as she was settled with a commanding view of the yard and woods, she'd lift a little snow on her paw and cover her nose with it. Except for her eyes, she was completely white and hidden.

Another consideration a wolf forces upon her owner is her sociability with other people. I could not easily take her visiting or to the park or a beach. She was painfully shy around people whom she did not know.

People were always startled when I'd tell them she was a wolf. If they were petting her, they'd withdraw their hands or step back quickly. (I guess we all bought into the "big bad wolf" theory.) In reality, wolves in the wild are a highly social but shy animal who keep to themselves and avoid humans whenever they can. There is no record of an unprovoked wolf attack on a human being since the first European settlers came to this country.

Dusty was the sweetest, most gentle and shy creature I was ever around in my life. In 14 years, I never once saw her bare her teeth at a person. She would bark if someone came on the property but would stand down immediately if she saw me make contact with that person.

Dusty howled, or bayed, frequently. There were many nights when the girls and I lived on our farm in Wisconsin that she'd sing with the coyotes in the hills across the creek -- a haunting chorale if there ever was one. However, there is nothing mysterious or mystifying about a wolf's howl. It was her way of saying, "Hey, Jon! I'm over here!"

A little more than two years ago, I went into town one rainy, foggy evening. When I returned around 9 p.m., I couldn't find Dusty. I searched most of the evening with no luck. The next morning, I found her dead beside the highway about a half-mile from the end of my road, a noble life ended ignobly by some vehicle on the highway. It was the only time in fourteen years she ever strayed off my property.

I will always be thankful to the Father who made us all that Dusty passed her life at my side as my friend, my companion and my protector. Her last night on this earth when she walked off my place, she did not turn left at the end of the road. That direction led towards town. She'd seen me go that way a thousand times. No, she turned right, walking in the direction of the woods ... heading home.

Author's note: Before anyone considers buying a domesticated wolf, they need to educate themselves thoroughly on wolf behavior and check out the source of the pups vigorously. A wolf cub from the wild is out of the question. They are virtually impossible to domesticate. I was lucky with Dusty. It was an intense and often demanding relationship as I regularly had to reassert my dominance over her. I would not recommend it to many people who do not have the temperment, patience and most important, the space (in terms of land). Best to enjoy these magnificent creatures of God in TV nature programs or, if you're lucky, to catch a glimpse of them in the wild.