Spinner

The day was unusually dry and sunny for a winter in the Pacific Northwest. Naturally, we'd had the typical rain and more rain, but a cold front from the north had moved down the coast, and brought with it a short respite from the usual precipitation. All the same, it was plenty nippy. And as I drove the old Chevy pickup over the dirt road leading to the Mexican wolf enclosures, I was glad for the three layers of clothing I'd worn.

It was actually the end of another day of caring for the wolves, and the last stop was always the two enclosures at the very back of the compound which contained the Mexican wolves. The two mated pairs we currently housed were kept deliberately separate from the rest of the wolf population. And separate from any exposure to humans, the exception being the animal keepers, who made the visit to feed them at the end of every day.

As a part of a special captive breeding program, they differed from the rest of the population at Wolf Haven. The other wolves were simply not allowed to breed. There was no sense in bringing pups into the world for a life in captivity. Most of the animals had already suffered that fate, coming to the facility from other zoos and sanctuaries, or having been raised illegally as pets. Less than a handful had actually been captured in the wild. But all had been offered a life at Wolf Haven as an alternative to euthanasia.

The Mexican wolves, on the other hand, were on loan from the U.S. Department of Fish and Wildlife. They were to be bred and then raised, along with their pups, as packs with the prospect of a future release back into the wild. Their traditional range was, of course, throughout parts of Mexico, but also in the southwest of the United States. Ranchers had nearly erased the species from existence when the Mexican and American governments agreed to begin a program of recovery. That is, if any wolves actually remained.

It was already feared that their good intentions had possibly come too late, when a small number were found and captured, most of them roaming separately. And from this initial seven animals was begun a breeding program in order to build a viable population in captivity so that some might eventually be released. As it so happened, one of the direct descendants of the original seven, this one a female, was among the breeding pairs being housed at Wolf Haven.

As I pulled the truck up to the main gate of the compound, I scanned the enclosures, hoping to get a glimpse of the wolves. Although a sighting wasn't rare, it didn't happen all that often. The animals usually stayed well hidden. And with the heavy foliage we allowed to grow inside the enclosures, they found easy cover. Days would sometimes pass without a single confirmation the wolves were still in their pens. On those occasions, we were forced to literally sneak up to the enclosures on foot, watching sometimes for hours before we might actually see an animal, and relieve our own anxieties.

Then there was the issue of pups, which we remained forever on the alert for. I mean, that was the whole point of what we were doing. And the sighting of pups was cause for celebration and great excitement, within our own organization and throughout the program as a whole. For a species which had been on the very precipice of extinction, there was ample reason to be cheering the birth of every new pup.

After pulling the truck through, I closed the main gate. Driving along the first enclosure I continued scanning the bush for movement. Somewhere inside were a young male and female. They'd been matched up at our facility for less than a year, and there was every expectation they would soon be producing pups. The idea was to build a pack containing the adults, a set of yearlings, and a group of newborn pups. Once that happened, they would be observed and given strong consideration for future release. It was a process, all controlled under the supervision of U.S. Fish and Wildlife.

The breeding program itself had been under way for many years now, and involved zoos and wildlife facilities across the United States, with a number also in Mexico. All of the work, the mixing and matching of DNAs in the breeding process, the untold dedication of thousands, was leading up to the day the Mexican wolves would be released back into the wild. Plans were formalized, agreements were made, and dates were set. Those dates were quickly approaching.

I moved the truck to the area where the two enclosures met, and where the access gates happened to be, moving my gaze from left to right, and back again. Still nothing stirred. If they were in there, I couldn't see them. But they could surely see me.

The second enclosure, like the first, contained two animals. Although in this case, an older female was paired with a younger male. Sadly, she would never know a life outside of captivity. She was the direct descendant I've spoken of. And with a DNA that was rare within the program, she was simply much too valuable to ever be released. And it was this sad distinction she shared with the rest of the animals at Wolf Haven. They would never know an existence beyond the chain link fences which had become their homes. Even worse for this Mexican wolf female, she would likely be moved many times, as the program and her DNA required. Highly stressful for a wolf. And she had already become well traveled.

Parking the truck and killing the engine, I hurriedly gathered the buckets containing their feed. I was in a rush, not because I was anxious to end my day, but for the purpose of limiting the wolves' exposure to me as much as possible. In fact, the rarity of any sightings was a good sign. So long as they maintained a healthy mistrust of all humans, their chances of survival would be better should they ever be released.

Carrying one of the stainless steel buckets of feed, I moved to the first enclosure. The bucket was full and heavy. (And if pups should eventually arrive, I'd soon be carrying not one bucket, but two.)

The enclosures were large and well constructed with chain link fencing, thirteen feet high, and with an apron at the base on the inside, attached and buried at an angle so as to keep them from digging out underneath. The height made it extremely difficult for the wolves to escape over the top. Although, admittedly, I'd seen wolves perform some amazing feats of agility before. And I had little doubt that if an animal truly wanted out, even the high fencing might not be enough to prevent it. The sheer physical dexterity of the wolves, which more closely resembled a cat than their nearer dog relatives, together with their incredible intelligence, made it difficult to anticipate and prepare for every eventuality.

For instance, we were routinely on the lookout for the digging of dens, which was common for the wolves. I had seen some of the larger animals dig cavernous dens. When they moved to extend beneath the fences which enclosed them, we were forced to collapse and fill them in. It's why a portion of our daily rounds required a complete walkaround of every enclosure. It was amazing how much could change from one day to the next.

To give some idea of wolf intelligence, a university had completed a study in which it compared the thought processes of wolves and dogs. It involved giving the animals a number of different scenarios in which they were required to perform some physical action which resulted in a mechanized opening of a door, etc., and the access to food. They concluded that, while the dogs most often stumbled upon the desired action and then simply remembered, the wolves tended to actually reason out what they needed to do. In much the same way you or I would look at the door, see the chord attached, follow the chord and determine we needed to pull on it to lift the door.

Very impressive. But likely a good explanation for why a wolf will not typically try to bring down an elk in the snow, preferring instead to keep a steady pursuit until the elk is exhausted and collapses. Or why wolf packs have been known to have a few wolves initially spook a herd and chase them towards the rest of the pack, who will then pick out the weakest of the herd and continue the pursuit. Very intelligent animals.

And it's why, as I entered the first enclosure, I knew I was being watched. Somewhere, among the scrub and bushes and foliage, a young male and female were watching my every movement. And they wouldn't emerge, even to eat, until the truck was well out of sight.

I closed the gate quickly behind me, watchful and listening for any sounds within. Particularly for the squeaks of newborn pups. But nothing stirred. So I emptied the contents of the bucket onto a concrete slab installed for the purpose, and after a moment of silent observation, left as I had come, keeping my eyes on the brush around me lest one of the animals should suddenly appear.

After padlocking the gate I moved to pick up the hose nearby and emptied and filled the water buckets of each enclosure. It occurred to me that should pups be discovered we would have to move the buckets lower on the fence. But for now, that would wait.

As I walked to the second enclosure, I was hopeful for a glimpse of one of the wolves. The pair had increasingly begun to appear at the far corner, watching as I emptied the feed bucket. But a quick glance as I unlocked the gate revealed nothing. I averted my eyes long enough to close and latch the gate. But as I turned and began to walk towards the concrete slab, I saw them standing at the far corner, watching.

It was going to be just one more reason this female could never be released. She had lost any fear of humans. She'd been subjected to so many moves and overhandling that she'd become far too comfortable around humans to survive long in the wild. Especially with ranchers throughout the Southwest adamant that they would shoot any wolves released on sight. Not that she was a worry. She would never be released, as I've explained. But she appeared to be affecting the young male.

Still, on a personal level, it was a rare opportunity to observe the most colorful of all of the wolf species. Although much smaller than the Timber or Alaskan wolves, the Mexican wolf more than made up for any shortcomings with its beauty. With colorings of red and orange, brown and white, they resembled a calico cat in coloring. And with a mix of blends and streaks that move down their legs, up their chests, and throughout the mask which adorns their faces, they are something to behold.

I continued towards them, and towards the slab, never averting my gaze (partly from the unique opportunity, and partly from a general wariness whenever I was inside, in their domain). There was usually little to worry about. Even among the general population of wolves, an entry into an enclosure typically meant the animals would watch and keep their distance, and so would the keepers. Some animals, of course, had to be watched closer than others. And some enclosures we would rarely enter at all. But normal upkeep and maintenance required us to make routine visits within.

The Wolf Haven policy was that under no condition was anyone to enter an enclosure without another keeper nearby, should the unpredictable occur. But with the Mexican wolves, the policy did not apply. We performed our duties with a planned urgency to limit our exposure as much as possible. They tended to be aloof and there was little danger that someone alone would encounter any kind of trouble. We also kept radios on our belts at all times. Just in case.

On this particular day, however, there would be no one to call. I was handling the animal care duties alone. It was a weekly occurrence when "days off" would result in only one keeper on site. So, although my radio was on, only the office staff would be monitoring any calls. And the most they could do would be to call someone off site, which occurred on occasion when a wolf was down. But for any human emergency within an enclosure, a keeper was simply out of luck. On the days when a keeper was alone, this fact was kept firmly in mind. And you would be crazy to enter an enclosure with no one around . But, the Mexican wolves posed no threat. You hardly knew they were there.

It was with this in mind that I was surprised to see the older female and her mate begin moving in my direction. And not with a hesitant curiosity, but at a brisk trot. I stopped in my tracks, unsure of their intent or my next move. But it was becoming crystal clear that they were headed right for me.

The mind of a wildlife biologist in such a circumstance is an interesting study. Although I had no such degree, my thought processes were little different. Even as I began backing my way quickly towards the gate, I was observing with wonder that as they grew closer the male was splitting off to the right, so as to divide my attention. And in the brief moment that I glanced in his direction, I marveled at the quickness with which the female lunged in, making for my left knee joint. And suddenly, here I was, experiencing what it was like to be wolf prey.

I felt her before I saw her. Her first attack had been to hamper my mobility by going for the joint. Thankfully my peripheral vision and reflexes were keen enough that she didn't get a solid bite. The three layers of clothing helped, too. As soon as she lunged for me I swung the stainless steel bucket to ward her off. Lucky for me the male proved to be less aggressive, and likely he was just following her lead. Whatever the case, once the female attacked, he took off. Had he not, I would have been completely at their mercy.

As it was, the female was already proving to be more than I could handle. Backing ever closer to the gate, I was focused intensely on keeping the bucket between my leg and her teeth. A task made all the more difficult by the fact the bucket had never been emptied as planned. But, still five or six feet from the gate, I was left to parry her lunges with the bucket in hand, while quickly anticipating what I was to do once I reached the gate. I couldn't simply throw it open, allowing her to exit right along with me. But, unfortunately for the moment, my main concern was reaching the gate at all.

Her attacks were relentless and incredibly quick as she attempted to get around the bucket to my leg. Somehow I kept blocking her lunges and moved ever closer to the gate. I think we humans never fully realize the role our brains have played in our survival. Or how quickly even the largest of animals in the wild can move. Much faster than we can. Especially in close quarters. But it was with instincts rather than brains that I was able to fend her off as I reached for the latch on the gate.

Grabbing and lifting the latch, I quickly swung open the gate just wide enough to slip through. As I did, she made an attempt at the hand holding the bucket. Seeing her a split second before, I dropped the heavy bucket and jerked my hand out of harm's way. It fell between us with a thud and a clang, and is likely what allowed me the time and space to get through the gate.

That solved one problem. The other, of course, was keeping her in. And although the gate was closed, it wasn't latched. As I stood on one side, trying to lift the latch and then drop it closed, she was making repeated lunges for the same latch, and for my hand.

Two, three tries I had to abort as she just missed my hand. But on the fourth try I managed to flip the latch up and then back down, securing the gate. In the same instant, the female decided to make a lunge for my arm, through the chain links. With my arm pressed against the gate to push it closed, she easily clamped onto it, pinching the clothing in her teeth through the openings in the fencing.

I was understandably relieved that I'd managed to exit the enclosure without major tragedy or injury, and secured the gate, keeping her inside. But now I was becoming quite irritated with her. She had three layers of my clothing firmly in her jaws and, as much as I tried to pull loose, I couldn't so much as pull my arm from the fence.

But even my irritation was to be short lived, as it began to dawn on me that she was slowly and forcefully beginning to pull my sleeve through the fence. And that if I didn't do something really quick, she would likely snap my arm as she pulled the entire sleeve through.

It was then, with a combination of fear, desperation, and outright anger that I placed both feet high on the fence, and with all of my strength put into one push, was able to rip all three layers of clothing from her teeth. The force catapulted me through the air and onto my back, and the frozen ground. Raising myself slowly to my elbows, I could see her prancing back and forth at the gate, looking directly into my eyes, and still clutching bits of cloth in her teeth.

Between the adrenaline of fear and anger, I was so enraged by what had just occurred (and what might have) that I jumped up and began cursing her and picked up the empty bucket from the other enclosure and threw it at her against the fence. She didn't even flinch. "Goddam you, you stupid fucking bitch! What the fuck's your problem?!!"

We both stood at the gate, face-to-face, glaring at each other, until she decided she'd made her point and trotted off into the brush. I remained a few moments more, waiting for the pounding in my chest to subside. Then I began the process of inventorying any damage. She hadn't broken skin, but my left knee-joint was already beginning to stiffen and swell. Other than that, by some miracle I'd escaped unharmed. With the exception of the large rip through three layers of clothing.

Acknowledging that I was none the worse for the experience, considering what could have happened, I allowed myself the opportunity to marvel at this wolf, this female, who was so quick and determined and strong. And I respected her. My love for these animals was why I was their keeper. And even an attack wouldn't diminish those feelings. So, it was with a smile on my face that I locked the padlock onto the gate and climbed stiffly back into the truck.

There was no need to call anyone on the radio. It was over. And there was time enough for reliving it for others. For a few special moments I wanted it to be just between her and me.

Later that year I was Wolf Haven's representative at USF&W's annual conference on the captive breeding program. Feeling that the female's actions were highly unusual, I related the incident to some of the other representatives.

"Oh, you must be the one that Spinner attacked."

"Spinner? I don't understand."

They went on to explain that this particular wolf was "not quite right". She had acquired the moniker "Spinner" because she was in the habit of chasing her tail. I asked if Jack, Wolf Haven's curator, had known about this. They replied they weren't sure, but said that she was well known throughout the breeding program. "And no one thought it was important to warn me?" , I asked. Everyone had a good laugh and I became the reluctant celebrity of that year's conference.

My contact with "Spinner" was to be the only one of its kind I ever experienced during my years as an animal keeper, working with wolves. That wasn't surprising. As I've said, wolves mostly prefer to keep their distance and, even in the wild, a wolf has to be under extreme duress (starvation, rabies, or mental instability) before they will attack a human. Regardless of the old folk tales or the cinema's depictions of them.

As an afterward, the young pair of wolves in the first enclosure went on to breed and produce pups in successive seasons, and tended to remain so aloof that I recommended them as ideal candidates for release. Fish and Wildlife evidently agreed, and the pack from Wolf Haven was among the first ever to be released back into the wild. Unfortunately that taste of freedom wouldn't last. Shortly after release, hunters and ranchers began killing the wolves illegally. The few who survived were recaptured and brought back into the breeding program.

The re-establishment of the Mexican wolf is a program that continues to struggle. With a myriad of problems from the start (not the least of which was that their release areas were also being leased by livestock owners), the future of the Mexican wolf remains in limbo. And with just as many animals succumbing to the stresses of recaptures and relocations as those who are actually shot and killed, I feel for them.

It is the tragedy of our planet that animals as beautiful as these are often caught between those who wish to help them and those who wish to harm them. And they suffer at the hands of both. And very few species are as fortunate as the Yellowstone wolves, who were released into an area where we could just let them be, and allowed to thrive.

When I look back on my encounter with "Spinner", I rejoice in her show of determination and rebellion towards her captors. And knowing the intelligence of these remarkable animals, and all that they have been through, I have to wonder if she was really so crazy after all.