Shock waves are still
spreading over the news that last November, a Canadian was
apparently killed by wolves. The conservationist mantra has always
been that healthy wolves don’t kill humans. But in this case,
which happened in Saskatchewan, evidence indicates that they did: A
22-year-old man was found mauled and partially eaten in an area
frequented by wolves.
Foes of wolves seized on the
incident to bolster their belief in the animals’ basic
savagery. David Withers, chairman of the Wolf Committee of the
Wisconsin Bear Hunters’ Association, solemnly issued a warning to
be wary in the woods.
“These predators are at the top of
the food chain,…” Withers said, “and they could pose a threat to
human safety.”
Personally, I’ve never understood
why anyone believed wolves would harbor any scruples about killing
human beings under the right circumstances. On the other hand,
I’ve never understood why many of the people who grow most
indignant over the threat of wolves think nothing of turning their
pet dogs out to run every day.
It’s a credo of the
West, evidently, that dogs should roam free. Certainly there are
plenty here that do — in towns, on Indian reservations,
throughout the countryside. In Montezuma County, Colo., where I
live, the law-enforcement blotter regularly contains reports of
dogs killing livestock, nipping at cyclists on county roads and
biting pedestrians. This winter, dogs were blamed for killing or
injuring more than 40 sheep or goats at the Cortez Livestock
Auction. And in February, a 52-year-old woman on the nearby Ute
Mountain Ute Reservation was hospitalized after being mauled by
five dogs while walking home.
If she’d been mauled
by wolves, the attack would have made headlines nationwide. There
would have been calls to reduce the animals’ numbers, even
exterminate them from the wild. Because her attackers were dogs,
people shrugged and accepted it as a fact of life.
Dogs
and wolves are very much alike, so it’s a mystery why they
are viewed in such different ways. Wolves are seen as cunning and
malevolent, dogs as loving and innocent. Yet it’s dogs by far
who pose the greater threat to human safety.
There are
maybe 10,000 wolves in the United States (half of those in Alaska),
vs. 70 million dogs. Since 1900, wolves have killed, so far as we
know, one person. Domestic dogs kill a dozen or more people every
year. According to the Centers for Disease Control, in 1997 and
1998, at least 27 people in the United States were killed by dogs,
and a few more people died while being chased by dogs. The CDC also
found that dogs bite more than 4.7 million people annually, 1
million of whom seek medical treatment. The estimated medical costs
ensuing from these bites exceed $164 million a year.
Can
you imagine the outrage if cougars, wolves, or bears were wreaking
such havoc on the human population? There is little hue and cry,
however, over the dog-bite epidemic.
Nor is there much of
an outcry over domestic dogs preying on livestock. Wolf foes fume
over every calf or sheep slain by wild predators, but the same
folks don’t become hysterical over killings by dogs.
According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, wolves account for
under two-hundredths of 1 percent of all cattle deaths, while
domestic dogs are second only to coyotes in the amount of livestock
they kill. Where are the calls for aerial gunning of stray pets?
Why, in fact, do we tolerate such a dangerous species in
our midst? Because, of course, dogs bring us enormous pleasure. And
while we may bemoan the fact that there are a heck of a lot of
irresponsible owners, we still don’t want to eradicate their
pets.
Well, wolves bring pleasure to many people too.
Just witness the hordes who gather in Yellowstone National Park
hoping to catch a glimpse of canis lupus. And many other people who
will never see a wolf in the wild take satisfaction in knowing they
are out there.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t
want to be killed by wolves, and I have a healthy respect for the
threat they pose. But maybe we ought to accord them some of the
affection and respect we harbor for their very close cousins, our
pet dogs. And if we’re genuinely concerned about the problem
of canines chewing on humans and slaughtering calves, the first
measure we ought to take is putting Rover behind a fence.
Gail Binkly is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a
service of High Country News
(hcn.org).
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