From 2015 - 2016 we lived and worked at Wild Spirit Wolf Sanctuary in rural New Mexico, a non-profit education center and permanent refuge for wolves, wolf-dogs and other wild canines rescued from the exotic pet trade. The following photos are portraits of some of the 70+ rescues we cared for during our time at Wild Spirit, including Arctic wolves, Tundra wolves, wolf-dogs, coyotes, dogs, New Guinea Singing Dogs, Australian dingoes, and a red fox. Wild animals are not pets.
Living With Wolves Gallery
Trapped: The Coyote's Remains
“The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.”
–Gandhi
Wild Spirit's Executive Director, Leyton Cougar, recovering the coyote skull and trapped foot found at the edge of our property.
Nature is not only ruthlessly beautiful, but unapologetically fierce, and so is the place where humans dwell with wolves. Living in the wilderness brings you infinitely closer to the wild and therefore your wildish self, because in nature the life cycle is ever present. Sometimes, it is brutal, other times breathtaking, awe-inspiring. In all of its facets, it is raw. Not only does this instill humility by forcing us to look at life and death, how quickly a being can go from one extreme to the other, and in that way to accept that death is inevitable. It teaches respect and compassion, to cherish this life we are given and to be present with it. It reminds us that nature’s magnificence and mercilessness does not exclude human nature. In truth, humanity is the greatest influence on all natural systems at this point in earth’s evolution. In this way, humanity’s widespread disconnection with nature often indicates the loss of an integral connection to our selves. This is powerfully apparent in the way people treat animals.
On a day off of work not long ago I was hiking in the woods that abut Wild Spirit’s property with my dog, Ziggy. Near the end of our walk through sandy high desert hills, past drying wild flowers and elk tracks, imprinting our own feet into the sand, we neared a tree where my fiancé, Chadley, and I had seen a dead coyote laid beneath the lowest canopy of pine branches months prior. It was in the spring that we took a similar hike with Ziggy, at the end of which I looked down, and directly into the eyes of a coyote that seemed to have died not long ago, for its eyes were still intact, along with its skin and the minimal amount of fur that remained on it.
Now, it was fall, and Ziggy was off leash. I cringed at the thought of her finding the coyote’s rotting remains. Truthfully, I didn’t want to see it, either. I wanted to be wrong, to have it be a false memory that this was the tree under which the coyote lay, and felt myself hoping that we were not covering that same ground. As we approached the tree I felt the clenching in my gut release. Where the coyote had died it was no longer, but after just a few more steps I realized that the relief I felt was short lived. There, spread on the dirt and dried brush just outside the lowest needles of the canopy laid the coyote’s bones, perfectly picked clean and white washed with sun. The scavengers will do that, ravens and vultures, taking every bit of flesh with their beaks until there is nothing but hardened bones left behind to become brittle as they bake beneath the high desert rays.
The skull was in two pieces, the top and bottom of the jawbone, with the top still pristinely intact. Even the cranium had not been broken. All teeth remained, though many were cracked straight down the middle. The spine, ribs, pelvis, and leg bones – all were there, along with others less recognizable. I felt myself repeating in my mind the fact that I did not need the bones, a mantra that emerged earlier on our hike. Bones are easy to come by at Wild Spirit due to our rescues' diet, and at the beginning of this walk I found myself happening upon the discarded bones of animals the local scavengers had dragged into the woods, fed on, and left behind. Many were quite beautiful in their curvature, geometry, and intricacy. I picked them up, observed them, but ultimately let them go again, it being their mettle to go back into the earth.
While I stared at the coyote’s bones, noting how slight they were, how much smaller they were than I’d imagined (the ribs especially), an object I had taken for a rotting piece of wood a few feet from the rest of the body kept calling my eye. After about the third time Ziggy sniffed it I inspected it myself. There, to my horror and disgust, was a rusted trap with chain attached still gripping the coyote’s foot in its vice. The entire foot and one toe remained. They, too, were picked perfectly clean standing straight up out of the trap like the statement they were. My stomach dropped. When we saw the coyote dead under that same tree months before we never saw the trap. The sight of it stirred and chilled me. It died at the very edge of our property, a sanctuary for wild canines, so close to help; yet it slipped away unseen.
When I saw the trap I knew immediately the jingle and clank that it made over the earth while attached to that coyote’s foot in life, because I had heard it myself. It was dusk, early winter. Our Assistant Director, Crystal Castellanos, had found the coyote and called our team in for help. We tried to catch it, to save it, but the coyote was afraid, and understandably so. We followed quietly through the woods until it darted uphill and across the dirt road into the woodlands across the street. We never saw it again, until now.
It was winter then, when we tried and failed to help that wild, frightened soul, and spring when Chadley and I found it dead beneath the pine tree. We did not know then that this was the coyote we had attempted to save. It added up now, remembering the skin and it’s loss of fur, how the coyote looked mangy, just as the one we had tried to help was riddled with mange. It is heartbreaking to think what that coyote had to suffer all because a human set out that trap. A human that never saw the effects, the coyote dragging its heavy trapped foot behind it, or its lifeless body under the pines, nor did they have to see that even in death the trap still gripped its bones.
I felt a responsibility to that coyote, a responsibility for myself, for the interaction I’d had with it, mourning the fact that we couldn’t save it, that it died so close to help, and more still, a responsibility for all of humanity, for the way man treats the natural world. It hurt deep in my heart to see the coyote’s foot still wrenched in the jaws of that trap. What hurts perhaps even more is that this coyote’s agonizing death is not a unique or isolated story. That hunters’ trap is just one of many forms that plagues and poisons our natural world: it is waste runoff dumped into our waterways, the scar of mountain top clearing, the burn of deforestation, the trash and debris that fills the stomachs of starved whales, the oil coating shorebirds’ feathers, the net that catches dolphins in its quest for tuna, and the poacher’s machete as it takes the rhino’s horn. It is the image of human irresponsibility in the natural world, the disrespect of nature that ultimately points back to humanity’s own broadened indignity.
This coyote was only trying to live its life, just as the human that set the trap was trying to live theirs. And that human who caused the demise of the coyote likely never saw the rotten fruit of their own doing. But I did. Not once, not twice, but three times I met with this coyote, and at our last meeting over the tired creature’s bones I promised to share this story.
In the end, there were four meetings.
When I returned from my unexpected communion with the bones I shared with Chadley what I’d seen. It was not long before we told Wild Spirit’s Executive Director, and the four of us, Chadley, Ziggy, Leyton and I, trekked back to the site where we collected the trap and skull, smudging both along with the rest of the bones with sage. Leyton explained that traps like these are supposed to have numbers on the bottom so that the person who set the trap can be tracked, and that the chain of such traps is meant to be so firmly rooted into the ground that the animal cannot possibly drag the trap off with it. ‘Made in Korea,’ was the only inscription on the bottom of the trap, leaving no way to contact the human that brought this misdeed into being.
The coyote skull and dirty rusted trap with the foot still caught inside it will be sent to Project Coyote in an effort to emphasize the cruelty of trapping by bringing this barbaric practice into the public eye.
The truth is, trapping kills. When man consistently overruns animals’ territory we should only expect to have interactions with wildlife that are not ideal. This is humanity’s doing, not that of the animals forced to cope with the resulting displacement, just as people fleeing from refugee crises should not be penalized for the warring and violence that has stolen their homelands away from them. Environmental degradation and humanity’s subsequent turning of a blind eye on the widespread and brutal destruction of the natural world is one of the greatest follies of our age. It is up to each of us to stand up, speak up, and assume responsibility.
Embracing Wildness: Celebrating a Decade With Nikki & Maki
“Domestication is the system of control in the Dream of the Planet; it is the way we learn conditional love. Starting when we are very young, we are presented with either a reward or a punishment for adopting the beliefs and behaviors of others in the Dream. This system of reward and punishment, or domestication, is used to control our behavior. The result of domestication is that many of us give up who we really are in exchange for who we think we should be, and consequently we end up living a life that is not our own.”
– Don Miguel Ruiz Jr., The Mastery of Self
Nikki with a raven. 2015
Wild Spirit rescues captive-bred wolves, wolf-dogs and other wild canines primarily from the exotic pet trade. Many of our rescues were surrendered to Wild Spirit by their former owners who tried to make them pets, but realized they could not continue down the path of exotic animal ownership. Others were rescued directly from breeders, and fewer still came from zoos and sanctuaries that closed. Our rescues cannot be pets, nor can they be returned to the wild because they were captive-bred. Though everyone at Wild Spirit wishes all wolves were able to live wild and free, and that Wild Spirit did not have to do the job that it does, we recognize that WSWS is providing an invaluable service to animals who would otherwise have nowhere to go. To that end, we do our best to provide each rescue with the best life possible.
Working with wolves and wolf-dogs directly every day, and especially those that are victims of the exotic pet trade, has allowed me to see first hand the aspects of the wolf that humanity glorifies, reveres, and simultaneously demonizes. I have concluded time and again that humanity fears and hates wolves because of how much they mirror us. We are the predator and fear the predator, the ugly side of existence - of the wolf - that we know, see and fear in ourselves. Humans admire the wolf’s raw, wild nature, their innate ability to adapt and survive, and at the same time loathe and fear those very same qualities.
I see the attempt to domesticate the wolf as a manifestation of humanity’s battle with its own domestication that is both imposed by cultures, societies and families, and self-imposed by individuals themselves. Many people who want to own a wolf or wolf-dog claim they love wolves, that they feel a connection to wolves, think they are beautiful, majestic, and the list goes on. I believe it is about the desire to possess and reclaim the wildness we see in the wolf that so many people have lost in today’s world that drives humans to obtain wolves and wolf-dogs, while the idea of "domesticating" a wolf points back to the domestication of humanity. But a wolf will not be domesticated; in fact, owning a wolf or wolf-dog is only denying that animal their natural right to their wildness.
Maki (L) & Nikki. 2016
Nikki and Maki are currently Wild Spirit’s oldest couple at ages 13 and 15, respectively. This month, they’ll have been together for a decade, over which they have developed a deep and beautiful bond. I have been lucky to care for them since I returned to Wild Spirit in January 2015 after being their caretaker as a volunteer years prior. Though it wasn’t all roses for this couple in the beginning, it has been a joy to watch their relationship blossom with time.
Maki came to Wild Spirit from the Richard E. Flauto Wildlife Foundation with her aunt, Kamia, in 2006, after the foundation closed due to its owner’s passing. The two were placed with a male wolf-dog, but were separated when he died of gastric distortion that summer, leaving Kamia and Maki with strong dynamic shifts that resulted in a severe argument. Maki sustained an eye injury during the fight that tore one of her eyelids, causing her right eye to weep periodically to this day. Only a few weeks after their fight, Kamia passed away from unrelated issues. This left Maki alone until Nikki arrived in October of the same year from Texas where he was living with a family in a private home.
Though Nikki’s family developed a bond with him, they realized he was, at best, not your average pet. For example, his primary caretaker, a woman who raised him from a few months old, would only enter his habitat if she wore the same clothing every time. If she did not, Nikki would rip the new clothing off of her. The owner’s oldest son, a 16-year old boy, was Nikki’s favorite playmate. Though they would play rough, Nikki never hurt him. When the family had to suddenly move, and didn’t have an appropriate place to keep Nikki they contacted Wild Spirit to find him a safe home.
One of the most common misconceptions about wolf-dogs is that they will be able to live a normal life in captivity because the wolf is mixed at some point in its lineage with a domestic dog. In reality, mixing a wolf with a dog creates very unpredictable offspring that often possess both wild and domestic instincts. Nikki exhibits many common wolf-dog traits that make these animals a very poor choice for a pet. He is possessive, territorial, fearful of change, destructive and strong-willed, while also being gregarious, naughty, assertive, and reactive.
After bringing Nikki to Wild Spirit, his family would visit from time to time. It was during one of those visits that Nikki bit our Executive Director when he entered the habitat to locate a toy for the family. Like many humans, wolves are territorial and possessive. In the wild, a wolf’s territory is the area in which they live, hunt, play, and raise their young. Being captive-bred does not remove the instincts from a wolf or wolf-dog, but forces them to live with their instincts in an unnatural way. As a tour guide at Wild Spirit, I often tell our guests that Nikki believes everything in his habitat belongs to him, that includes Maki, the water bucket, the fences, and so on. His unpredictable nature, however, could make him indifferent to his caretaker touching his water bucket every day, for instance, until the day he becomes sensitive about it. After the incident with our Executive Director, who left the habitat with serious bites to both legs and one of his hands, we now know that Nikki will bite with force, without warning, and that he will do so repeatedly.
Due to the severity of this event, Nikki has to be separated from anyone who goes inside the habitat so there is no chance he can bite someone again. This is done by placing food or a treat in his sub-enclosure, a 6’ x 6’ habitat within his larger habitat that he can enter through a guillotine gate opened by his caretaker. Nikki is comfortable with this routine, having done it almost every day for at least eight years, and is rewarded for going into the sub-enclosure with affection (when he desires it) and food.
Nikki in his sub-enclosure. (L: 2015, R: 2016)
Smiling on his 13th birthday. 2016
I have seen many times how Nikki’s possessive behavior borders on obsessive. Anything new that's placed in the habitat belongs to him immediately, and he can be very assertive about claiming that item right away. He often tries to pull things through the fence if given the opportunity. I’ve had him try to take my camera, grab the sleeve of my jacket when I was walking by, and seen him pull almost an entire hose through the fence when a volunteer was filling up his splash tub. Even more troubling, he once grabbed a volunteer’s arm when she was petting him and Maki through a gap between the fence and the gate (which she was allowed to do), and even bit a neighboring animal’s tail through the chain link causing her to have it amputated.
Resource guarding is a canine behavior in which an animal is guarding something such as food, a toy, a favorite spot, even a companion or person by growling, snapping and asserting themselves so as to claim ownership of their resource. Nikki often displays this behavior with new objects, such as his summer time splash tub, a metal tub weighing approximately 40 lbs. In the days after it is delivered he has been seen trying to drag it into the back of the enclosure to claim it as his own if it is not weighed down with water.
In these moments one can sense that "fight or flight" has taken over him, and that his loving, sweet, and patient sides have gone away. It’s easy to see how this can occur, because it happens in people, too, like in an argument where one side, or both, are so desperate to prove that their perspective is correct they will ignore all reason and examples that would prove them otherwise. Resource guarding, wanting and possession all boil down to control, a manifestation of fear.
As exemplified by his reaction to his former owner’s clothing, Nikki also doesn’t like change, and his resistance to change has continued in his life at the sanctuary. When I think about Nikki’s dark side I see the same dark and fear based tendencies that plague humanity. So many of us fear and loathe change, so much so that we will refuse to change ourselves even when we know the change is in our best interest, or in the best interest of our loved ones. And like Nikki, one of humanity’s greatest pitfalls is our obsession with possession. We have destroyed the environment for centuries in the name of commerce, and our obsession with possessing land and resources has been the cause of countless wars spanning the ages. These obsessions create classes, divide nations, families and communities, and cause countless human personality complexes and disorders, all stemming from our fear of being without.
* * *
I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine. 2011
Aside from Nikki’s many quirks, another of his undeniable traits is how much he cares for Maki. Though Nikki and Maki are both high-content wolf-dogs, meaning they more resemble wolves than dogs physically and behaviorally, what makes them such a great couple is their differences. Maki, who is said to be mixed with British Columbian Timber Wolf, very much embodies the wolf personality, which is not only disinterested in having anything to do with people, and completely unmotivated to please people, but also innately fearful of humans, as wolves are instinctively aware that humans are their only predator. Whereas dogs look to humans to be their pack leaders, wolves have no drive or instinct to follow human instruction or commands. Unlike Nikki, who is curious, social, and largely unafraid of people, Maki generally keeps a distance from anyone inside the enclosure, though she occasionally likes to be pet through the fence. Being high-content wolf-dogs makes these two a good match, but it is their complimentary personalities that make them a great couple. Even still, building their relationship took time.
Nikki and Maki had already been together for three years when I met them in 2009. Though Nikki has always been the dominant partner, at that point in their relationship Maki was meek, and appeared afraid of Nikki at times, who can be brutish. Though the transition period of getting to know each other was awkward at first, over the years the two have found their groove, and their love for one another is now strong and obvious. Nikki still has his moments when he’s not the most polite gentleman, but by and large he has softened and even developed a sense of patience for Maki that he didn’t have before. In this last year, I’ve seen him wait his turn to play with a toy because he could see Maki was enjoying it, instead of charging over to take it for himself, as he would have done in the past. For her part, Maki has learned to stand up for herself, and from my view has grown much stronger as an individual. Though she always tried to stand her ground when Nikki bullied her, she also knew when to choose her battles. With food, for example, she would never win. Over time, however, Nikki seems to have grown respect for Maki’s wishes, while she’s learned to assert herself.
L: Maki, 2009, with mud on her muzzle, and R, in 2015, scent rolling on her pumpkin enrichment.
Majestic Maki. 2015
When it comes to play the two couldn’t be a better match. Both love instigating quarrels with their neighbors through the fence. Fence fights usually consist of loud throaty grumbles, growls, bared teeth and snaps while running up and down the fence line staring each other down. Although they enjoy arguing with their neighbors, the way they interact with me through the fence is often very sweet. For instance, this past year the two have made a game of saying good morning. As I approach their habitat they'll routinely trot up to the fence to greet me with eager, happy smiles, or walk toward me side by side with their mouths and cheeks pressed against each other, playfully mouthing one another.
And I could not write about Maki without mentioning how much she loves to splash and cover herself with mud. She is frequently spotted standing in her water bucket. Even when fervently pacing the fence line while waiting for her breakfast she will take the time to dip her feet in, or hop in and out of her splash tub while she paces.
What I love and admire about Maki is how she has remained fierce and scrappy into her golden years. I will never forget the time we were experimenting with her food and I started feeding her a thawed meal out of a bowl inside the habitat. That quickly ended when one day I struggled to take the bowl back once she finished, and when I finally did retrieve it, she noticed and chased me out of the habitat. After I made it out without incident, and we all had a good laugh about her chasing me down for an empty bowl, we decided to come up with a new feeding strategy. (I now feed her a special thawed meal through the fence, which works great, and is better for her aging organs than the raw meat she used to eat.) Even her howl, though quieter than it once was, still has a deep and resonant tone that many of our older rescues lose at her age. Seeing her feisty and enduring spirit continue to shine alongside her sweet and gentle disposition is incredibly endearing.
Like all of the Sanctuary’s rescues, Nikki and Maki are wild animals and unique individuals who belong in nature. Watching these two overcome the adversity they’ve faced by simply living their lives as captive bred wild animals – a traumatic experience in itself – and transcend parts of their own personalities to become the strong individuals and couple they are today is one of the most rewarding parts of the job.
Everything changes. In this case, where there was once fear and uncertainty there is now love and stability. When love is unconditional it knows no bounds.
Honoring Navar
“An invisible thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance.
The thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break.”
– Ancient Chinese Proverb
Navar approaching to say good morning. Summer 2015.
Navar left his magnificent form behind him exactly one week after his 16th birthday, on the snowy first day of May, to join his siblings and his girlfriend, Contessa, who had all gone before him.
Though I miss him, as we miss anyone we love when they are gone, my heart is full of gratitude for all the time we shared, for our seven years of friendship that spanned time and space, and for everything coming directly in line to allow me to be with him this last year, to have been his caregiver for his last 9 months, and for being able to assist him in his transition, being there with him and for him in his last days through to his last moments.
Smiling in the snow. Winter, 2015.
I met Navar and his siblings, Brutus II and Akela, in 2009 after about a month of volunteering at Wild Spirit. The three were the first wolves I ever cared for. Navar and his family of tundra wolves were a shy trio from Iowa where they were zoo animals until the children’s zoo where they lived closed, and they came to Wild Spirit in April 2008.
I remember when, Angel, Wild Spirit’s former Assistant Director, took me in to meet Iowa Trio for the first time. As we stood outside the habitat that I would soon come to know by heart, visiting year after year, I asked her with excitement at age 24, ‘These are wolves?’ and Angel answered, ‘Yes, these are wolves.’ I couldn’t believe I was being trained to care for wolves so early on in my time at the sanctuary, and for the opportunity I was ecstatic. After the first day of training, however, I quickly realized why they were a low maintenance habitat.
In addition to being extremely gentle, Navar and his siblings each embodied the wolf’s natural temperament when it came to interacting with people, which is to be very shy and wary. In the wild, wolves generally avoid humans, knowing that we are by and large their only predator. Although Iowa Trio were used to seeing people coming and going in their time at the zoo and were able to transition to living on our tour path, they remained shy of people they didn’t know and were often seen in the back of their habitat during tour times. When it came to interacting with their caregiver, two of the three wanted little to do with humans. In the beginning, only the alpha male, Brutus II, was social enough to approach me.
Brutus, an enormous gentle giant with the deepest howl among the trio, was the most curious and greeted me the first time I entered the habitat. Brutus quickly became my first wolf friend, teaching me about wolf body language, pack hierarchy, boundaries, and friendship.
After a few weeks of socializing with Brutus, Navar approached to let me pet him for the first time.
Navar, Brutus and me. Summer 2011.
Though Navar had grown brave enough to approach me, it was always on his terms. He would notoriously stand as far away as possible, making me stretch a full arm’s length away from a seated position until I could just barely touch his fur with my fingertips. After a few minutes or less he would back off and take a lap around the habitat before making his way back for another tentative scratch. I was so honored that first time he let me pet him, and even more grateful every time thereafter for gaining his trust, for the fact that he had reached out to show me that he had become comfortable enough, interested enough, to bridge the gap.
With time, more of Navar’s guard dropped away, and soon he and Brutus would approach me on either side, one to my left and the other to my right, while I pet both of them. Sometimes Navar would walk up behind me while I pet Brutus and lightly pull my hair or take the edge of my tank top in his front teeth, tugging ever so slightly. He endeared me to this game by never pulling hard, and I likened it to his way of letting me know he wanted my attention. It showed me, too, that if he was comfortable enough to do that, he was growing that much more comfortable with me.
As my relationship deepened with Brutus and Navar, I began increasing the time I spent with them, frequently visiting them twice a day in an effort to strengthen our relationship. Though their sister, Akela, remained shy and wouldn’t invite me to touch her, she would always stay close, and didn't have a problem with me coming near her or spending time with her boys.
Over the five consecutive months that I cared for Iowa Trio in 2009, we progressed from having little to no interaction, to the three of them greeting me at the gate when I’d come to visit. I remember vividly the first time the three of them ran from the back of the habitat to meet me. It was after work on a hot summer afternoon. I was so touched that I wept.
Above: Brothers, Brutus, in the foreground with Navar behind him. 2009.
Below (Left to Right) : First Row - Portraits of Brutus, Navar and Akela. Second Row - Brutus & Akela, Brutus & Navar, Navar & Akela. All 2009.
After leaving Wild Spirit to move east in the fall of 2009, I would return to visit for about a week each year. Iowa Trio would always be my first stop on those visits, the three of them endearing me by greeting me at the fence each time. It was during one of those visits that Akela sniffed my hand after so many years for the first and only time.
As years went by, Navar’s pack members passed away. Brutus was the first to leave us in 2011. Akela followed him in 2013. Each slipped out of their bodies in their sleep, lying comfortably in the sun after a filling meal, as beautifully as it was unexpected. As far as we knew they were in fine health, only aging. When it was time for them to go, they simply went. Knowing that, I had always expected Navar to go in the same way, here one moment and gone the next without any explanation, but that was not the way for him.
When Akela’s passing left Navar alone and undeniably lonely, the staff at Wild Spirit paired him with the gorgeous Contessa; an extremely outgoing mid-content wolf-dog his same age who had lived at the Sanctuary for many years. Though their relationship was at first described to me by our Director as “two ships passing in the night,” the old odd couple grew closer with time, turning out to be the best thing for one another.
* * *
Contessa & Navar. Summer, 2014.
I had the honor of caring for Navar and his fun-loving girlfriend, Contessa, for their last months together on this earth. Seeing how much Navar had opened to people after he and Contessa became a pair was both touching and remarkable. It’s amazing what the right companion can do!
I treasured my mornings spent with the two of them, Contessa wildly bumping into me, practically barreling me over as I entered the gate in an attempt to get all of my attention, Navar watching until she settled down, allowing him to sneak over to my other side so that I could pet both of them simultaneously. Howling with them and hearing them howl together, two old raspy whispers, was such a joy. Half the time sitting with them on either side of me howling brought tears to my eyes as I immersed myself in the moment with them, simply being, knowing they wouldn’t be around forever, while the other half of the time I couldn’t help but giggle at their awesome cuteness. These two old souls had finally found each other, and though they were an unlikely pair, they were perfectly right for each another.
While Contessa helped Navar break out of his shell, he gave her the space she required, especially with the men she adored. At the same time, she respected (though sometimes begrudgingly) the relationship that he and I had, accepting that she couldn’t chase him off. For her tolerance of sharing my affection I would take her out on weekly walks. When she returned, Navar would be waiting for her, backing out of her way as she barged in with her regaling attitude, brushing past him, Navar slowly following her, eager to sniff her, learning where she’d been. And while she ruled the roost when it came to her people, he was dominant when it came to his food. At feeding time they would impatiently stand side by side at the fence, exaggeratedly scratching at the dirt demanding their breakfast. I couldn’t think of anyone better suited for either of them.
Over the years the physical distance between Navar and I slowly closed, as he went from standing two-plus feet away from me, to standing so close that our faces nearly touched. With time, he allowed me to stand over and beside him to give him butt scratches and massage his back. Even the way he approached me had changed, from zigzagging toward me in our early years as friends to waking directly toward me.
After Contessa passed in February of this year I could tell that although he was managing, he was naturally lonely without her. When I came to care for him in the morning he would walk up to the fence puffing out his cheeks, whining ever so quietly for me to come in, and I would whine back at him as I entered, answering him in his own tongue.
* * *
In his last month, Navar suffered on his back left leg where a mass had grown in his bone that we could only assume was cancer. All of a sudden, he lost much of the mobility he had in that leg. It was difficult for him to get up, walking and standing were arduous, and lying down became an even slower process. Over my years of knowing Navar he showed me more and more trust, and with that trust, vulnerability. Yet, the development of the issue with his leg brought a different kind of vulnerability that comes when a wild animal is injured and needs their space in order to feel safe. Knowing that, I kept my distance when I knew he needed it. There were days when I visited in the morning and it was too difficult for him to get up. I respected his needs, admired him from afar, or sat at a distance he was comfortable with, the two of us simply looking at each other.
In his last two weeks I knew he was getting closer to the end by how close he allowed me to approach him physically. Where vulnerability was arising due to his physical condition, the guard he had built up to protect himself dissipated at the same time. A surrendering of his body along with his inhibitions was taking place. He even let me examine the leg that was bothering him, allowing me to approach him while he was lying down. When I lightly touched his back left leg he extended it willingly, enabling me to inspect it in its entirety from his hip to his toes.
On April 24, a week before he passed, Navar celebrated his 16th birthday. I made him a special cake of stew meat layered with strips of steak to look like a latticed piecrust with his name spelled out on top in chicken jerky. Though his appetite was waning, he was so excited when I presented it to him, asking him if he wanted birthday cake. He stood up as quickly as he could and dug in. In his last week with us, that cake was the most he ate.
Days later, on Thursday, I prepared a bowl of food for him that he rejected after only a few bites. When I left with the bowl he followed me and stood at the fence staring at the bone I had in my food bucket that I had planned to give to a younger wolf. I knew he wanted it. When I threw it over the fence his happiness was palpable. He picked it up by the end and smiled broadly at me with the bone in his mouth, completely delighted, before he walked with it proudly to the back of the habitat. When I was cleaning his enclosure after he passed I found the remnants of that bone, only inches left. I rarely saw him eat bones in their entirety. When I found it I smiled, happy for him that he got exactly what he had wanted.
The last day he approached me was that Thursday. I walked up and sat cross-legged five feet from him where he laid in one of his favorite spots beside his hay house, saying good morning, just admiring him. When I sat down he immediately stood and walked toward me to stand directly over me with his head above mine, our faces next to each other while I pet his neck.
That Saturday, we howled together for the last time, seated side by side. It was the day I realized he was at the end. If he could get up at all, it was with extreme difficulty. We gave him some pain medication to help him feel better, which allowed him to relax his body and move ever closer toward the threshold, going further and further away in his mind. We hoped he could pass on his own, but like his girlfriend, Contessa, his survival instincts wouldn’t allow him to let go. It’s hard to see anyone we love when they are like that – in the hands of death – yet it is also a beautiful transition that we will all go through; an innocent vulnerability like that which we experience at birth. The portal was opening. Transformation was taking place.
Navar in ethereal light. Fall, 2015.
“We are here to awaken from the illusion of our separateness.”
– Thich Nhat Hanh
Navar’s last two days and nights were spent in turbulent weather. Lighting and thunder, crashing hail, snow and rainstorms passed over us. Though it was painful to see him endure it, to persevere, there was something about it that pointed to his wildness, his wild heart, and the process he went through of letting go. I always knew that Navar was resilient, but not only that: he was noble, regal, gentle, shy, polite, cautious, strong, dignified, vibrant, and always a gentleman. He had true vitality both as a young wolf and an old man.
It was after the workday on Sunday, May 1, when Animal Care Supervisor, Rae, and I prepared to assist him on his journey. Though we all wished he could go on his own, we agreed that assisting him was the right thing to do. Still, I was uncomfortable. Like the weather, like Navar, I was experiencing my own storm of emotions over those last two days, and more than anything else, more than saying goodbye, what plagued me was my fear that he would be scared.
While Rae went to tell the volunteers that we were planning to say goodbye to Navar, I stood outside his habitat holding the blankets and plastic bag with needles and syringe looking at him peacefully and comfortably lying in front of his hay house. I spoke to him in my mind, conjuring the best intentions I could, telling him he was safe, that he didn't have to be scared, that it would be peaceful and filled with love.
Though it was no longer raining or hailing, the cloud cover still loomed above and I had my thick jacket hood on to fight the cold. I was deep in thought talking silently to Navar from my heart to his heart, as if there was nothing else but the two of us, until I felt something land on my head, breaking through my concentration. Startled, I tilted my head lightly from side to side feeling whatever was on me moving with my movement. I tilted from side to side again feeling the same movement. This time whatever it was walked in a full circle on my crown. Slowly, I turned around and bowed. To my surprise and delight a blue bird flew from my head to a nearby post where it sat for several moments, looking at me as I looked at it.
A wave of peace and security washed over me. All the loving intentions that I had been sending to Navar flowed into me as if Navar and the universe were speaking to me through that spirited blue bird. I realized fully in my heart that I didn’t have to be afraid, that indeed, this was what Navar needed. This was the right thing to do.
When the bird flew away, leaving me with its everlasting message, I turned my attention back to Navar, continuing to send him positive thoughts until Rae walked down the path behind me and put her arm around my shoulder to let me know it was time.
Melding with the sky.
We entered and quietly knelt beside him. The lull in the storm continued to spare us, though the sky remained gray. He was alert, lying down with his head up. He knew we were there. With Rae’s instruction, I held off his front left leg, applying pressure while she found a vein, the three of us holding our faces, hands and arms comfortably together, inches apart. I continued holding his elbow until the needle went in and blood pulled back in the syringe. Rae asked me to let go and make sure he stayed still. I held his face gently on either side behind his cheeks, just letting him know I was there. We told him we loved him, and that everyone was waiting for him – everyone was there – Contessa, Brutus, Akela, the mom and dad he never got to know, and so many others.
As Rae steadily held the syringe, pushing the liquid into his vein he slowly and easily let go of his neck, his eyes, mouth and ears softening. He was absolutely ready. Gently, I lowered his head as he did, laying him down naturally, placing his right cheek lightly on the ground, his snout laid on his front right paw, as if he was taking a comfortable nap. Overhead, the clouds broke. The sun shined a ray of light across his face. He looked so peaceful, with a small contented smile in his lips. So handsome. Rae and I sat back on our heels and admired him, his beautiful life, his majesty, and his equally beautiful, majestic and dignified death. We held hands and shed tears, touched by how easy it was for him to let go with just a little help from his friends.
Navar’s neighbors, Storm, Zoerro and Oni, each watched the process with quiet, reverent respect, lying in line with us on their side of the fences. When we rose from beside him, Flurry started a goodbye howl, the entire sanctuary slowly, steadily, joining in to wish him well on his soul’s journey.
“The storm has passed,” Rae said, looking at the clouds continuing to part overhead shedding light over us, revealing the clear blue sky that was hidden for those last two days.
Being a part of Navar’s life has been deeply impactful, meaningful and fulfilling to me. He taught me about patience, trust and respect, and he taught me about the wolf: the gentle, wary, intuitive, enduring sides of the wolf’s nature. I will always cherish the relationship that we had. He helped me grow, and I am proud to know from a soul to a soul that I helped him grow, too. My heart feels full at the thought of it, because that’s what great friends do. Though there is a loss of his physical presence, he is not lost.
“There is no death, only the changing of worlds.”
- Chief Seattle of the Suquamish Tribe
I love you, Navar. Run free.
A Tribute to Brutus & Skye
“Life exists only at this very moment,
and in this moment it is infinite and eternal.”
- Alan Watts
Brutus and Skye greeting me in the morning.
Our beloved wolf-dog pair, Skye and Brutus, left their earthly forms just eight days apart this month, one following the other. Skye passed shortly after her Sweet 16 birthday party, which she celebrated with her love, Brutus, the two of them enjoying their last long walk together and sharing a gourmet cake made for Skye by Wild Spirit’s loving volunteers. Little more than a week later, Brutus was ready to go with her, leaving his body to run forever free.
Skye giving Brutus a love bite.
The first time I met Skye she tried to pull me over by the hood of my sweatshirt, which was on my head. She was famous for pulling volunteers down and dragging them across her habitat by their hair, hoods, jacket collars and belts, and it was obvious that she reveled in doing so. It was the day we let Skye and Brutus back into their home after nearly a month of living in our largest habitat, the one-acre, while we constructed a brand new cave house and pond for them. We had close to 15 staff and volunteers in there, watching them explore and enjoy their new digs. I was crouched when Skye approached me, sniffed my hand, and then without warning grabbed my hood at the side of my face. Before she started pulling I pushed her back by her chest. She let go, and we looked at each other for a moment while I stood up before she went merrily on her way.
Though I didn’t have contact with her again for six years, that first moment of introduction always felt like some initiation into who she was.
When I returned to Wild Spirit for work in January 2015 I was soon trained to be Brutus and Skye’s caretaker. I was wary of her at first in light of our initial interaction years prior. I’d not only seen, but experienced the naughty side of her that everyone talked about. I knew what she was capable of. But I soon realized that with time she’d softened. An old lady, then, at nearly 15, she was much more mellow than she was in her younger years. She was gentle, but still firm, letting me know if she didn’t like how I was petting her, and escorted me around the back of her habitat when I cleaned up, though when she did so it was not menacing but endearing. She was undeniably sweet, grandmotherly, yet still spry for her age and playful with her best friend, Brutus.
Although she never challenged me again like she had as a 9 year old, I always respected that side of her, and loved sharing stories of her past mischievousness with new volunteers and guests. Most of us mature with age, I’d say. And when I’d tell those stories, I always felt her look at me in such a way as if to say, “I can’t believe you told them that!”
It was only about a month after I began caring for them that both Brutus and Skye fell ill with an unidentified illness that disturbed their equilibrium, making both of them off balance, eventually effecting Brutus enough that he could barely walk or stand.
One morning, I entered their habitat for animal care and found Brutus lying down in the back unable to get up. Skye followed me and stayed glued to my side while I knelt beside him assessing his condition and petting his cheek. The concern in her eyes, her face, was so palpable, so deeply emotional. She acted both like a partner and a mother to him, then, and I realized that even in that short amount of time we had grown close enough to be like family. Together, the two of us watched over him waiting for help to arrive. While he was gone at the vet over the next five days she waited for him, visibly concerned. She came to me each of those days for comfort, during which I assured her repeatedly that he would come back. When he did, she rejoiced and rested at reuniting with him. What a rich, dynamic, beautiful, caring soul.
Smiling together.
Skye passed away just days after her Sweet 16 as if, like the classy fun-loving old lady she was, she had decided to go out with a bang. The volunteers made a beautiful and special meat cake for her with her name written on the surface in cursive turkey bacon. While the cake was staged, their current caretaker, Stefanie, and I took the two of them on a long walk with one of their best friends, Christine, who was visiting them for the weekend. When we returned, Brutus and I stayed behind while Skye was presented with the cake. At first she was upset, pacing and confused as to why Brutus wasn’t coming in with her, but when at last she saw the cake, she understood. Brutus was by far the more food aggressive of the pair and would have pushed her out of the way to take the entire cake for himself. When she finally dug in, she ate happily, finishing exactly half of her birthday cake, and left the rest for Brutus, which he inhaled with glee.
Over the following week she let nature take its course, surrendering to the breakdown of the body as she prepared to transition into the next realm.
I found her not long after she had passed on a sunny spring day. Her body was at peace. When I touched her, checking how long it had been since the life moved out of her, I admired her beauty, that magnificent vessel she had chosen to live out this life, and I was truly happy for her that she could go on her own, that she was ready, fulfilled. To see her that way brought me peace, a lightness that allowed me to let go of her physical form, just as she had.
* * *
Brutus Bright Heart, always smiling.
Only eight days after Skye passed away, bright-hearted Brutus was ready to go with her.
Brutus had one of the best attitudes of anyone I have encountered in my life. He loved life. He was filled with vibrant life. He beamed with joy and love, always smiled, and brought so much happiness to those around him. He loved burrowing and nuzzling into laps, jumping up and putting his paws on your shoulders, and reveled in long hugs. His demeanor itself was comforting, always coming to his friends to shower them with his unending source of love and affection. Eating was one of his favorite past-times, and he smiled broadly while he played with his boomer ball, one of their favorite toys. When walking or galloping together in the one-acre, an uninhabited enclosure used for enrichment, he always told all of the other males that Skye was his lady, puffing out his cheeks and growling with authority to let them know he was the boss.
It was his enormous heart and his quirks that made him who he was, Brutus being the most fitting name. Even his smile was unique, embellished with an unmistakable and adorable snaggle tooth. He had his compulsions – his food obsession, his drive to go after gloves, hats and fluffy fabrics, and the occasional impulse to grab beards and hair. When confronted with these items it seemed almost like he would lose control of himself, he had to go after them, he had to have them.
And of course, Brutus’s loving spirit spilled onto almost everyone he met, and most of all, his Skye. Not only did these two have such impactful, beautiful spirits as individuals, they had an enduring, unshakable love for one another. They looked after, guided and supported each other like great couples do, and they always made time to play together. They balanced one another and enjoyed each other endlessly in their similarities, both rambunctious, yet gentle and loving.
I took this photo during my parents' visit to Wild Spirit when they met Skye and Brutus for the first time.
After I found Skye had passed I realized quickly that Brutus already knew, but hadn’t told me. When I first entered the habitat he was playing with his boomer ball, occupying himself, and welcomed me with deep love. When I went to check on Skye, finding she had left her body, I rose up from beside her and turned to see Brutus lying in his favorite corner of the habitat looking at us with his head resting on his front paws. I walked to him, knelt before him and enveloped him in a long hug.
When Skye passed, I knew it wouldn’t be long before he joined her. In his last two days he spent much of his time laying in the spot where she left this life, his desire for connection with her both breaking and warming my heart. Though he remained full of love until the very end, it was undeniable how much he missed her. After just a week, his cancer overcame him. He was ready to move on.
I chose Alan Watts’ quote that now is infinite and eternal to open this tribute because it describes how I feel about losing those loved ones we’ve been drawn to in our lives. When I recognize that the now is infinite, that it is always happening, I realize, too, that it is forever. To me, this means that when our loved ones move beyond their bodies they are still with us, because the now we once shared with them is that same infinite now we are experiencing in this moment, and in this way, they are never gone, can never be taken away from us.
My friend, Christine, said of Skye upon her death “I know your heart.” It is a most fitting description. When we love someone, when we know each other’s hearts, it is through the exchanging of our presence and heart energy in our interactions. That is the stuff that charges and stays with us. And though I already miss seeing their beautiful smiling faces, their earthly bodies, their warm welcomes, I don’t feel like they are gone. Skye and Brutus are a part of me, and I am moved by the thought of them being together again, for the first time running free, dancing together in whatever new form, or formlessness, they’ve gone into. Two spirited sprites.
I will remain always grateful for Skye and Brutus’s teachings – to have fun in life, to love your friends, your family, to play, be daring, but also kind, loving, caring, and nurturing. And I will forever cherish the countless, beautiful moments we shared – when Brutus stood with his back feet on the edge of the pond, his front paws on my shoulders pressing his forehead into mine, sharing space, holding each other there, just because. And the last time I cleaned their pond, while I sat on the lip waiting for the water to drain and Skye approached me from behind, something I no longer worried about, and craned her head over my shoulder, our heads next to one another, listening to the sound of her sniffing as she examined my shirt. At the vet’s office when Brutus, on leash, rearranged a shelf of brochures in the waiting room, tried to get gum out of the gumball machine, pissed on a bench in the exam room and nearly knocked a painting off the wall. Taking them for walks and watching them revel in the one-acre, showing off. Kissing each of them on their foreheads and cheeks in those last days, united in our knowing; together, saying goodbye.
Walking together, side by side.
Nymeria – Lessons on Self-preservation and Self-destruction
Nymeria with a bloodied right ear after fence-fighting with her neighbor and family member, Shae, of Shaggydog Pack.
It was just before 8AM on a Sunday when I received a radio call that Nymeria, a member of Ghost Pack, a pack of four high-content wolf-dogs, had been in a fight and required attention. While I reached out to Wild Spirit’s Director to inform him of the situation and request his help, my boyfriend, Chadley, who had made the radio call, entered the habitat and two other staff members on radio immediately responded by going to meet him at the scene.
Nymeria was bloodied. The vast majority of the right side of her bottom lip was torn off, and her paws were bleeding. The day before the incident I had reported seeing Nymeria fence-fighting with her neighbor, Shae, the only female in Shaggydog Pack, a group of four wolf-dogs from the same family. My first thought was that Shae had been involved, as I had seen both Nymeria and Shae up on the fence biting at each other’s faces. Chadley checked the fence lines for blood. Though there were spots of blood along the ground, none of the rescues in the two adjoining habitats had traces of blood on them. They did not appear to have been involved. Nymeria’s pack mates, however, Ghost (the only male), and her two sisters Arya and Brienne, all had traces of blood on their fur.
Upon seeing this, our director and animal care supervisor determined that Nymeria had been in a fight with her pack, and that the fight was not yet over. Due to the severity of Nymeria’s injuries, the pack’s history of fighting, and the fact that all three of the girls in Ghost Pack were in heat, we decided to remove Nymeria from the situation immediately.
It was only three months before this incident that the three females of Ghost Pack killed their alpha female, Lady, days after she was re-introduced to the pack after having been removed for a little over a week to under-go and recover from a tumor removal surgery. Lady’s death was shocking, unexpected and extremely painful for all of us. Though we had watched carefully for three days after Lady was re-introduced, and the pack dynamics appeared to be fine, even welcoming and joyful, we were wrong. Lady was killed overnight and there was nothing we could do about it. We knew Nymeria had been a primary culprit and was quite possibly the instigator of that fatal fight. After a few months passed, it appeared she picked a fight with her shy and lower-ranking sister, Brienne, who had successfully defended herself. It was not surprising to us that the rest of the pack would have joined in.
When working with these wild animals every day we tend to focus largely on the positive aspects of the wolf’s energy, the social, family loving, intelligent, self-sufficient and regal aspects of the wolf. Yet, there is a very dark side to the wolf that humans have seen and feared for thousands of years. Lady’s death reminded us of the reality of our work, that each day we care for wild, carnivorous predators who act out of their own will for reasons we don’t always understand.
Ghost Pack, formerly known as Westeros 5. From left: Arya, Nymeria, Ghost (not facing camera), Lady, Brienne.
When I think about Nymeria’s psyche and her actions, two things chiefly come to mind: self-preservation and self-destruction. Before diving deeper here, it is important to share the pack’s history. The Iowa 10 (originally the Iowa 12), now known as our Westeros Pack (named by George R.R. Martin and his wife Parris Martin after the characters in Game of Thrones), were rescued in 2012 from a private home in Iowa after their owner, who had been ill, passed away. After the owner’s passing, a family friend stepped in to care for the animals and to find them a new home. Beric Dondarrion, a male who lived alone, Ghost Pack, a group of five that initially consisted of Ghost, Brienne, Arya, Nymeria and Lady, and Shaggydog Pack, a group of four wolf-dogs consisting of Shae, Shaggydog, Jon Snow and Summer, each lived in six-foot high 10x20 cages with roofs and concrete floors for years before the sanctuary heard about their plight. The night the Iowa 10 were released into their new homes at Wild Spirit was the first time their paws touched dirt in three years. The sensation was so foreign to them that it was initially uncomfortable, and they would often be found gathered onto the concrete pads at the entrance to their habitats huddled as if on a security blanket.
In their former home, the Iowa 10 were left un-socialized for years after their owner fell ill. Neighbors and family were frightened of them, and thus, no one entered their habitat for several years. They lived in their own urine and feces. None were spayed or neutered, and there are stories of them birthing and eating their own pups out of their own self-preservation – there was no room to nurture additional lives, and not enough resources to share with a litter. Though infanticide is something that naturally happens in wild wolf packs from time to time, the situation with the Iowa 11 is particularly sad. Wolves love babies. They cherish nurturing and rearing their young. It is a pack activity that everyone participates in. Knowing they had to kill and eat their own young in order to survive and protect themselves sheds a great deal of light on who they are psychologically, and the deep pain and fear they must have endured in their former home.
Watch this short video about the Westeros Pack’s rescue to learn more about their story.
Instincts surrounding self-preservation are built into all of us. Though we need them to survive, they can lead toward self-destruction when we try to preserve ourselves, or something in our lives out of non-essential reasons. To me, Lady’s death is a representation of how Ghost Pack’s female pack members clung to their self-preservation. It was evident by viewing the pack’s interactions that Nymeria, in particular, wanted to be higher ranking. There is a strong hierarchy in wolf packs, which usually consists of alphas, betas and omegas. Being ‘an alpha’ refers to the pack members that typically breed. It is most often the case that only the alpha male and alpha female breed, though pack dynamics can shift over time and it is not unheard of for packs in the wild to drive off or kill an alpha. For Ghost Pack, Lady’s return disrupted the shifting hierarchy that was starting to take place. Whatever the other girls’ motivations, it was clear that they desired Lady’s spot, and with her gone they got a taste of it. I see the fatal attack on Lady as manifested out of the Ghost Pack girls’ desire to preserve the new pack dynamic, and likely, Nymeria’s desire in particular. In Nymeria’s case, her actions born out of self-preservation ultimately led to her self-destruction.
Wolves are neophobic, which means they fear new things. Change is the only constant in our lives, but often we shun, fear and attempt to avoid it. What I learn from Nymeria and Lady’s stories is that trying to preserve how things were in the past, or trying to force something to be the way we want it to be, even when it no longer fits, is a negative approach. Instead, we must strive to embrace change and the present moment.
When I think about Nymeria’s lessons of self-preservation and self-destruction I am drawn to think of them in both personal and global terms, macrocosmically and microcosmically. I think about how we, humanity, continue to abuse, destroy, and consume our global resources in the name of immediate gratification and self-preservation, when such habits will ultimately lead only to our own demise. On a human level, we tend to think solely of ourselves and fail to view each other as one, part of the whole, and to see each person for being at their own stage of development, carrying their own lives and sorting through their own stuff. On a personal level, the lesson reminds me not to be self-destructive in the name of the ego’s self-preservation, and not to allow myself to give into procrastination, stagnation, self-doubt and other forms of self-sabotage. And it reminds me again on a personal level to be kind, cultivate compassion and understanding for others, who they are and what they are going through. This includes cultivating compassion and patience for myself.
This photo of Ghost Pack was taken a little over a week after Lady was killed. Nymeria had been fence-fighting with her neighbor, Shae, and lost the tip of her right ear. From left: Arya, Ghost, Nymeria and Brienne.
Change is both necessary and unavoidable. Yet, the morning we found Lady I was angry, disturbed and sickened. I was angry at the pack for killing her. I was angry at us for not having seen the signs, for not being able to stop it. Maybe if they had lived in the wild Lady wouldn’t have died. Of course, we will never know what kind of lives the Westeros Pack would have lived if they were born in the wild where they belong. It all seemed such an injustice: her death, their suffering in the terrible conditions they were kept in as ‘pets’, and their being forced to live the rest of their lives in captivity due to being non-releasable. The trauma manifested in me in hives that erupted over my body, lasting for over a week. I felt guilty that she had perished under our watch without us realizing there was an underlying issue, and I felt personal shame for having witnessed a negative interaction between Lady and one of her female pack mates that I failed to properly report. I had to contend with all of those feelings. But with time and acceptance, understanding and compassion, I was able to let go and to learn. I no longer have to carry the pain of losing Lady, but can instead carry her memory and her story.
I feel for both Lady and Nymeria. No one wanted Nymeria to get hurt, just like no one wanted Lady to be killed. Of course, we do not want anything negative to happen to any of the animals in our care. I am deeply grateful that we were able to get to Nymeria in time. As for her personality, what I have learned about Nymeria as an individual over these incidents is that she is extremely strong willed, perhaps sometimes despite herself. After she was beaten, bloodied and injured she was still seen pacing the fence line inviting a fight from her neighbors, and soliciting for Ghost to breed with her. Though her adrenaline-fueled response to the fight seems to consist of one part insanity and one part brash bravery, her will nonetheless commands respect and admiration. There is something to learn from that side of her, too.
A few days after Nymeria was separated from her family she was taken to the vet. Forty stitches reconstructed her lip. With time, she will heal, but she will never return to her pack. It is unsafe for all of them. The rest of Ghost Pack was moved to a habitat directly behind where we hope to place Nymeria once she has fully recovered, in a nice, quiet habitat at the back of our compound with an older wolf-dog named Lakota. The family will share a fence line allowing them to interact from a safe distance. If it works out, it will be the best-case scenario.
Lady’s death and Nymeria’s injuries will stay with me as memories that continue to remind me to look closer, dig deeper, avoid becoming complacent, listen to my intuition, and to strive to act from a place of integrity and compassion in everything that I do.
After the fight with her family, Nymeria was moved into Lakota's sub-enclosure where she is healing from her reconstructive lip surgery. This photo was taken before she went to the vet, and a piece of dead lip skin can be seen hanging from the front of her mouth. Lakota (in the background) continues to show interest in her. We are hopeful they will make a good pair.
Animal Presence - What The Animals Teach
Lucian, a mid-content wolf dog at Wild Spirit Wolf Sanctuary. Wild animals are not pets!
“We don’t produce thought inside of our minds – thought exists independently of our minds. We attune ourselves to currents of thought that exist apart from us, and only receive them in our minds, as when we tune a radio to a particular station. Our mind is the radio and thoughts are the myriad ‘stations’ we can ‘tune into.’”
— The Yugas, by Joseph Selbie & David Steinmetz
I think that anyone who has engaged in a creative process can relate to the above statement, no matter what kind of creative act. Whether its music, photography painting, writing, designing, martial arts, dance, sports, sculpting, inventing, tinkering – whatever the work – all tune into a particular frequency, and even more precisely, a particular station differing for each person.
Every time I am deeply engaged in writing my novel, a station I have been tuned into for years, I am receiving something that feels simultaneously part of and independent of my mind. Certainly, I ask questions of my characters, of their world, their motives and backgrounds, and I cultivate their stories, the story as a whole, based on this. Yet, there is much that feels outside of me. When I don’t know what’s next, I wait until a flash of insight or intuition strikes. Where those feelings, scenes, images, conversations come from is part of the wonder and delight of creativity, a beautiful mystery.
There is a similar kind of tuning in that comes with working with animals. We have to tune into their station. We are leveling, and just as we are observing and interacting with the animal, they are sensing us, and sometimes testing us. Though tuning into animal energy differs from tuning into creative energy, both require presence and focus.
I have learned much from, and come to admire deeply, the presence of animals, particularly the wild canines I work with at Wild Spirit. They are always present – even when resting, relaxing or playing, their senses are still active and listening. All of that is very subtle: a slight shift in the eyes, a tilt in the ear, a waving of the tail. Instinct and intuition is critical in the animal world, in which humans, though we seem to have forgotten, play a part. Animals live in the moment and so force us to be there with them, a place where we often falter in this stage of humanity. We fail at living in the now, at relying on our animal nature, our instincts to guide us. There is so much self-help out there focused on being present that it is clear this is something people in today’s fast paced world are craving. In my own search I have found the wolf to be a profound teacher.
The wolf’s presence, along with their sheer power, their innate wildness, may contribute to the deep seeded reasons we fear and revere them culturally. They have something the human animal has lost and is trying to regain. They need no weapons to hunt and survive, just as they need not practice being in the now. Instead they live it.
Unless an animal is quite old, feeble, has lost some of its senses, or is ill, there is no surprising or sneaking up on them. In fact, they are so attuned to their surroundings that they can sense things long before we can. Even domestic dogs can hear and feel a thunderstorm hours before their owners. Accounts of animals fleeing shorelines in mass before major environmental disasters like tsunamis are another proof. They know.
Thus, when working with wild animals tuning into their frequency is very important. It is the platform from which knowledge and understanding can be gained, as well as safety ensured.
“The present is the place of power. When we say someone has great presence it is because they are showing up fully consolidated with all of their energy available in the present moment. They are not thinking about the past or worried about the future.”
— © Copyright 2015 ~ Lena Stevens All Rights Reserved, Mystic Mamma
When entering any habitat, from a fox to an arctic wolf, I first assess where the animals are, what they are doing, and what their demeanor and body language is saying. Are they eating or guarding food, sleeping, fence fighting, or disciplining their mate? Do they appear over-excited, calm, active?
As a rule, staff and volunteers are discouraged from entering habitats when feeling ill, on medication that causes drowsiness or disorientation, preoccupied, angry or upset. Of course, entering a habitat while intoxicated is forbidden. This is because the animals can sense that something is different or ‘off’, and for an animal with naughty or dominant tendencies, entering their territory in such a state creates the opportunity to be taken advantage of. In addition to the safety issue this can cause for caretakers, when we lack presence we can also miss the important things the animals are telling us, signs that they are experiencing emotional distress, or that they are injured either internally or externally. In both cases, it is unwise to be mentally somewhere else.
Once we enter an animal’s habitat we have entered their territory where the animals expect things to be on their terms. This means interaction, where we are and are not allowed to go, and what we are allowed to touch and/or take. It is always important to remember that the habitat is their turf, where they know every inch of the terrain and where they call their home. As such, it is imperative that we as caretakers not only respect the boundaries of the animal, but also assert our own dominance so they understand they cannot take advantage of us. This assertion of dominance is achieved in different ways. With some animals the presence of one or two tools (a shovel and a hoe, used for scooping up waste) is the only way to ensure the animal will respect the boundaries set by the caretaker. Even so, carrying the tool is not the sole answer. Presence on the part of the caretaker is still required, and carrying the tools strategically (so they protect the back of the legs, for instance) may also be necessary.
In saying all this I am in no way indicating that wolves are mean or devilish, but merely pointing out that they are wild animals, have wild tendencies, and communicate in their wild wolf ways to each other and their human caretakers. This is the crux of the reason that wolves and wolf dogs make poor pets.
Therefore, to be effective caretakers we are taught to think and act like a wolf, making learning to communicate in their language an important part of animal care training. For instance, many people lean over their dogs to pet or hug them, but to wolves this is a sign of dominance, something that a more dominant animal might find unacceptable. Conversely, lowering the body to the ground, crouching or even crawling can coax a shy animal out of their shell. Making ourselves smaller implies submission, that we are a friend, not a foe.
In all these ways the practice of presence is a pillar of the animal care training program at Wild Spirit. Caretakers are expected to be watching and listening at all times, whether inside an enclosure or in an office, just as a wolf hears and sees everything around them. Collective howls take on many meanings. They can indicate when fights are happening and when an animal is being hurt. Similarly, noticing a behavioral change, like when a food aggressive animal becomes disinterested in eating, can mean that the animal is sick. These kinds of observations can and do save lives.
There are countless examples I can share of situations at Wild Spirit where someone’s presence made all the difference. For now, though, I am choosing to focus on one animal in particular who has taught me much about presence.
Taking a dip.
Lucian is a mid-content wolf dog I have known since I first volunteered at Wild Spirit (mid-content wolf dog meaning about equal wolf and dog-like traits in personality and appearance). Over many years of visits our relationship has deepened, and when I returned to Wild Spirit in January I was assigned to be his caretaker. His mate, who he lived with since his arrival as an adolescent, was older and passed away a few months prior. He was clearly still in mourning. He seemed sad, less playful, and considerably grumpier. What I mean by ‘grumpier’ is that he had become even more particular about where he wanted to be touched (and didn't), for how long, and he seemed to have become even more possessive over his stuff.
Since I was first introduced to Lucian he had always wanted to dominate me by knocking me down. He has jumped at me (or tried), tested me, snapped in my face, and growled at me any number of times simply because he is the kind of guy who likes to throw his weight around. He can be prone to tantrums, is aware of his strength and seems to enjoy messing with people. His personality is big, and he is extremely smart to boot.
Nevertheless, whenever I entered the habitat he would greet me at the gate, excited to see me and ready to sniff my waste bucket. When I walked around the habitat picking up feces and bones he followed me, trying to stick his head in the bucket while I was walking, or the moment I paused to pick something up. He frequently enjoyed peeing on the bucket, another sign of possession, and darted over whenever I cleaned out his water bucket to drink out of it while I was cleaning when he had no interest in it if I wasn’t touching it.
So, how do you handle it when an animal is showing signs of dominance? Don’t back down. At first, I was quite nervous when he would follow me and try to possess the waste or water bucket while it was in my hand, but I came to recognize that as long as I was confident he lost interest in the game. When he follows me and I become uncomfortable I tell him I don’t like what he’s doing, that he needs to be nice, or needs to back off. Talking to the animals really helps convey to them that you are present with them and watchful. Even if they can't understand the words, the tone and the fact that verbal communication is happening can make a difference.
When I cared for Lucian as a volunteer I learned the signs of the ‘no warning jump shot’ early on, a stretch maneuver where he looks like he is just doing a little downward dog yoga pose and then launches at you. If he did catch me off guard, I would push him down mid-jump. I found that prolonged eye contact usually brings on the jumping. He seems to view eye contact as an invitation to come closer, or a threat to his dominance, depending on the person and his mood. When he realized I caught onto the jump maneuver and I started calling him out on it “no, you can't come up here,” he made the stretch smaller and smaller until he had barely lowered his front legs before trying to jump on me. By reading his body language I have been able to pretty accurately predict what he will do next, even when he switches from docile to dominant in a flash.
When an animal’s actions, energy level, and dominance tend to alter quickly it is even more important to be completely present with them. When petting Lucian, if I see him turn his head slightly and look at me out of the corner of his eye I know he is getting annoyed and could get testy. All it takes is an instant of distraction or preoccupation on the caretakers’ part to enable a situation where the wolf or wolf dog gains the upper hand.
At the same time as it takes a high level of alertness to be able to maintain our standing as caretakers in the animals habitats, it is also very fulfilling to come to learn each of their personalities and quirks by observing and interacting with them. Understanding the way they communicate, how they are speaking to us, either by making sounds, using body language, eye movement and so forth, makes the human-animal relationship stronger. With a level of understanding between us, trust can be built, making the bond for both highly rewarding. I know that my relationship with Lucian has improved due to my understanding many of his triggers; because he knows he cannot push me around there is a respect between us that allows for vulnerability. Neither of us is on edge wondering what the other is going to do, creating more relaxed, comfortable, and enriching interactions.
I am grateful to be able to practice this type of animal presence in the first part of my workday (animal care lasts from 8am – 10:30am), as it often translates into a more focused, tuned in, moment-by-moment driven day. Of course, I have an even deeper gratitude for the love the animals bestow, their interest in and enthusiasm for interaction, relationship building, and for the lessons they teach.
The last experience I’ll share here has to do with a red tailed hawk. In 2012, I volunteered briefly at a Massachusetts Audubon in the animal care and education departments. The staff knew I had worked with wolves and in one of my first days the director of education, feeling confident I had experience with wild animals, offered to introduce me to the red tailed hawk. Although I had no experience with birds, let alone birds of prey, he felt comfortable taking me in, so I took him up on his offer. Off we went to the habitat.
All of the animal’s residing at the Audubon had some injury that prevented them from being released back into the wild, and the hawk lived in a small habitat reflecting that. It could fly, but not well enough for the wild. The director entered and I entered behind him. The bird was in the opposite corner on a perch. While the director was talking I kept my eyes on the hawk. I had a wariness around the birds that differed from any wariness I feel around wolves, because bird’s can fly, giving them an added level of unpredictability that I had yet to begin to understand having never studied or worked with them prior.
We could not have been in the habitat more than a few minutes when I saw the hawk hunker down, lower it's head and hunch up its wings. My first thought was that the bird was going to fly at my face. The director continued talking, unconcerned. The moment the thought passed through my brain, the hawk launched from the perch at my face with talons outstretched. Lucky to have had that instant of foresight I was able to lower my head and block the blow with my arm, deflecting the hawk to the ground. The director was shocked, and as he was saying, “this has never happened before,” the bird launched at my face again, this time from the ground. Still on guard, I blocked the second strike, but this time the bird’s talons clawed the back of my head.
We left the habitat moments after, the director repeating that this had never happened before, and that he had never seen the hawk be aggressive. I was stunned and shaken, but not upset, just sincerely thankful for the training I received at Wild Spirit, which instilled in me to recognize the power of any wild animal, to respect it, heed it, be present with it, and tune in.
Fera Spiritus — Getting Here
Photo by Ronny Rose, www.ronnyrose.com
My boyfriend, Chadley, and I left Boston with our dog Ziggy and all of the belongings we could fit into our small Hyundai Sonata on the morning of January 1st. It was cold, and we had been up until the wee hours of the morning going through what items to take and leave behind, packing, unpacking and repacking the car, and, finally, cleaning the apartment before the new tenants arrived. At around 2 AM I sat on the floor in the living room surrounded by piles of clothes crying over having to leave all those vintage dresses, fringe boots, sunglasses and sweaters behind. Growing up with a mom in the fashion business, I always loved clothes. They reminded me of special times in my life, and I enjoyed collecting unique pieces whenever I traveled. But I had no use for the majority of my wardrobe where we were going, to a wolf sanctuary in New Mexico where I would maybe get away with wearing a dress on my day off. It’s funny now to look back at how despondent I was over those clothes (and there were more than one pair of fringe boots that really were amazing), but at the time it was like ripping a band-aid off a fresh wound. These were the things in my city life that made me feel like me.
This was just one small part of letting go that I experienced over the time Chadley and I eagerly accepted positions as the Program Director and Event Coordinator at Wild Spirit Wolf Sanctuary, and when we actually arrived at our new tiny home, 7500+ feet above sea level in the mountainous high desert of the southwest where we live mostly off the grid.
Since volunteering at Wild Spirit, I had always dreamed of returning, but hadn’t found the right timing, the right way to contribute, or, most importantly, the courage. There was part of me that always felt like wanting to return to my life with wolves was like wanting to run away from the ‘real world.’ In fact, I was told this by any number of people. Yet, I knew that my time there felt more real and rich than any other experience I had in the so called ‘real world.’ Living at Wild Spirit brought me into the wild for the first time, when before that, I was a city girl through and through. So much so that the wilderness scared me.
The reason for my volunteering at Wild Spirit six years ago was to learn more about wolves, the nature of man, and our relationship with the wild for my novel, The Nature We Become, excerpts of which are being featured on this website as the novel is being finished. What that title and the book means to me, in a nutshell, is that nature (and people and animals) all evolve over time. Who we are and what we are becoming is in constant evolution. But how do we play a role in that destiny, and conversely, if we go where the tide takes us, where we will end up? In exploring the evolving nature of each of my characters, I have come to ask myself these very questions, because how can I talk the talk if I don’t walk the walk?
Having always identified as an artist and a writer, I found myself really struggling throughout my 20’s to balance my work/life/art priorities (which came down to that order). Graduating from a liberal arts school with a degree in writing in an age where print media was becoming obsolete and writers, though valued, were being paid even less for their work (if at all), I felt an impetus to “get a real job” out of the fear of not being able to get by on my art. Always pursuing jobs that fulfilled some part of my civic mindedness, I wound up working with a number of great people and organizations during my time in Boston, making life long friends and learning from fabulous mentors.
My last job in Boston was a great one at the New England Board of Higher Education, where over a four year period I developed from a part time assistant into a full time project coordinator, helping to run a curriculum and professional development program for high school and college instructors that focused on connecting industry with education to make learning real. I sincerely enjoyed my job, was proud to be a part of a movement of educational change, and loved my colleagues. I traveled nationally, worked with a community of educators who were truly inspiring, the results of which were tangible, with new and exciting opportunities being presented all the time.
And yet, a question in my mind always persisted: when would I allow myself to do what I really wanted to do? My art, my idealist, my rebel, these pieces of myself that in my early twenties were uncompromising seemed to have been trampled by routine, promise, comfort, stability, and fear of loss. What would I be without my professional trajectory? Would leaving my career ruin my future prospects forever? These mantras, and the one that always told me I would finish my book later, that I would go back to the wild later, repeated for years. But when would ‘later’ be?
I would often think about getting back to walking my walk, and how my current situation, despite how much I enjoyed it, was not something I chose, but what I fell into. What simply was. In this way, I couldn’t help but feel like I had stopped tending to who I really was. My wheels were turning. Under the surface I was ready for a change, though the time didn’t feel right. Alternatively, I knew that waiting for the “right time” was just another one of my fear mantras.
So that September, Chadley and I visited Wild Spirit together for the first time. It was a trip I had always wanted to make with him, and one that I will forever treasure. On one of the last days of our epic vacation (we also visited the Petrified Forest, Painted Desert, Lowell Observatory and the Grand Canyon), we sat down for a conversation with Wild Spirit’s Executive Director to discuss the potential of returning for a stint of part-time volunteering – in the nebulous future – that would afford us space and time to work on our art. This was really a pipe dream for me, and one that I wasn’t even sure my man was very gung-ho about. It turned out that the Sanctuary had just acquired a Lodge and Retreat Center with the help of some wonderful and dedicated donors and was looking to add some new members to the team. It was the right time after all, and by the end of the conversation we were offered seriously awesome brand new staff positions that would begin in the new year. We left for Boston the next day with our minds already made up, though we forced ourselves not to talk about it until we got home.
Once we accepted, there was all the planning and relinquishing that had to be done surrounding leaving our city, loved ones, jobs, social lives, the majority of our things, and the conveniences of city life (including flushing toilets, frequent showers, and 24 hour stores) behind. All of this was both exhilarating and terrifying. I knew there would be people in my life who wouldn’t understand, who would disapprove, feeling disappointed, hurt and even angry, and I feared these reactions from my loved ones that I had built up in my mind. Would my boss and colleagues feel they wasted their time on me? Would my family think I was running away? Would I lose touch with my friends?
In reality, the world was happy for us, even those for whom the decision was difficult to accept. Though my friends, family, and colleagues would miss me, they were happy that I was pursuing my dream. With my loved ones support I realized all of my anxiety around what they would think of my decision, of me, was just another lesson in letting go.
As we prepared to drive across the country leaving our lives behind, I felt continuously assured and inspired by friends and mentors who had walked a similar path, closing one door to open another, facing the necessity of change even when it was unpopular, challenging, or abrupt. What their stories told me was that altering my course would never get easier or more possible than right now, that my life needed me to walk my walk. And now that we are here, I know that all I did – my work, my time in Boston, the reasons I stayed, those I met and how I spent my time – led me back to the place I chose to be, and that in return chose me. When you follow your heart, I have learned, nothing can be taken away from you.