When a dog is part wolf


I sit on the porch, waiting. It could go either way, because Aluco is part dog, part wolf, and one side will win out depending on the day. Today is a good day. Aluco steps toward me and lightly touches me with his black nose. Slowly, I extend my hand and pet him. I know that this is all I am going to get. Any sudden movement will cause him to shy away, though it is harder for him to move now.

Aluco’s history is unknown, but it is obvious that some timber wolf blood runs through his veins. He has a sweeping tail, long legs and coarse brown fur shot through with gold. At the shelter, he was moved around in his pen with a noose and a pole. My husband, Jerry, could not leave him there, facing a certain death.

Jerry spent hours with Aluco, sleeping on the porch for months. Slowly, he was able to put a leash on him, then a pack on him for overnight trips. Aluco has come a long way. But he will never be the same kind of dog as the others, who freely tolerate me using them as pillows, who flop like fish into our bed. Instead Aluco keeps his distance, wary, afraid, half-wild.

This corner of Oregon is torn apart by the people who love wolves and those who hate them. The wolves slipped in from Idaho on their own, but there are people here who believe that the government brought them here in a deliberate plot to drive out the ranchers. There are people who refuse to walk the moraines that bracket Wallowa Lake because they are afraid of being taken down by wolves. This is a hard place to have a dog like Aluco.

The people who hate wolves are not bad people. They are people whose livelihood hangs on a thin balance. Under cover of night, wolves creep into their pastures and kill. These people see no value in wolves.

I don’t debate this with them.  Because of the choices I have made in my life, I can live with wolves in these mountains. Their howls add a touch of spice to the sweep of land dropping to the banks of the Imnaha River. Their tracks punctuate the snow on Tenderfoot Pass. I want them to survive here, but this is a wish I keep mostly to myself.

We drape Aluco in colorful flagging whenever we take him on trails, but people ignore his playful ribbons. They jump in fright at the mere sight of him. They put a hand on their rifles. I fear a shot in the woods, so we mostly go off-trail, in the places where people don’t go.

There are times when I really wish Aluco were a different kind of dog. I want to lie next to him, listening to the bellows of his lungs. I want to be able to take him for trail runs along the moraine, on backpack trips into the wilderness. It makes me sad that he won't know the comfort and safety the other dogs do, lying sprawled by the fire.

“You have to accept him for what he is,” Jerry says, and I know that he is right.

We are losing Aluco, slowly, an unknown problem causing his back legs to buckle. We are at the tipping point now. Do we drive him hours north of our small town for invasive procedures, or do we let him go? Jerry doesn’t say so, but I can tell that his heart is breaking.

Loving Aluco has not been easy, and losing him won’t be either. I can’t shape him into the dog I want him to be, any more than I can transform this rugged and lonesome country into a place where everyone agrees on the virtue of an intact wilderness, where even the predators we fear and dislike are welcome. I can’t make him better, either; eight years might be all we get. Sometimes I am dwarfed by all I do not know and cannot change.

Inside all of us beats an ancient drum, a reminder of a time when we were wilder than we are now. One at a time, we all came to the fire and were tamed. Every once in a while, something reminds us of that time, and for me it is loving Aluco. Running through the woods, when he could run, he was eclipsed by something like joy. He disappeared into the trees, striped black by shadow. He always came back when we called him, but I know that he is disappearing now and we won’t see him again.

Mary Emerick is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News (hcn.org). She is a writer in Joseph, Oregon.

Note: the opinions expressed in this column are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of High Country News, its board or staff. If you'd like to share an opinion piece of your own, please write Betsy Marston at betsym@hcn.org.

Mike Roddewig
Mike Roddewig
Mar 22, 2013 05:41 PM
I'm thankful to hear that someone else understands that cattle ranchers are decent folk. Here in Montana I feel the same way you do Mary. I would love nothing more than to see wolves repopulate here.

But, I get it that cattle ranchers operate on razor-thin margins and all wolf repopulation is going to do is hurt them. While I have worked on a couple of horse ranches in the past I have never raised cattle for a living and thus really don't have a good idea of what they go through. My only knowledge comes from friends who have grown up ranching cattle. And what I do hear is that the loss of a few cattle is a major blow, and, while hard to quantify, wolves stress the cattle potentially resulting in fewer calves and more sickness.

So because I haven't "walked the walk" I find it hard to criticize the ranchers when they complain about wolves. Like you, I tend to keep my mouth shut.
Penelope Blair
Penelope Blair Subscriber
Mar 26, 2013 07:30 PM
I have been in love with wolves ever since my mother read me Little Red Riding Hood when I was four years old. I cried for the wolf! My father grew up on a ranch in eastern Colorado. He did not harbor the hate predator attitude that most of the ranchers of today have: He loved predators as much as non-predators. I no longer eat meat, nor do I do a lot of other things that I might have done in the past, because I respect mother earth and all of her life forms. The wilderness does not need me! It needs to exist for its own sake. Ecosystems need predators because that is the way God intended our world to function. Only man was given free-will and look at the mess we have made. Modern ranchers have a legacy of what they call "their land" being stolen from both the Indians and the predators. Their forefathers brought brucelosis to the bison from their imported beef, yet the bison pay the penalty for the errors of man. Ranchers wiped out the wolf in an attempt to control all of the land. When is he going to learn that all species have a right to space and life? Greed will be the downfall of this country.
I was at the Brookfield Zoo back in the '70s when I was drawn to the wolf pen. The alpha male came over to me and we chatted. I sat down during our conversation and when I got up to say good-bye, the wolf told me to wait and then he disappeared over the hill. Soon he was back with the rest of his pack and we all had a howl together. It was an amazing gift!

Instead of killing all of the predators, let the cattle have long horns again so they can defend themselves, and sheep? Well, the saying goes that they live to die. Perhaps breeding sheep that are smarter would be a good idea, or put guardian dogs with them. Do what is right, not just what is convenient. My dad rode fence, they just didn't turn out the livestock to fend for themselves like ranchers do today. Personally, I am tired of my tax money going to subsidize ranching on public land. There are some places where livestock does not belong. Time for man to stop being the bully of the natural world.
Tara Foye
Tara Foye
Apr 05, 2013 12:59 AM
Mary, my heart goes out to you as you go thru this heart-twisting odyssey, loving your wolf-dog, Aluco. There is something so irreistible and yet so heart-breaking, loving this wild being that can never quite be yours. Thank you for sharing this beautiful story. Its people like you and Jerry that give me hope for the future. My prayers are with all three of you that you will still have more time together.