We have not always been enemies.
You eager humans once admired us.
Oh, always from afar, of course. Even then, through your admiration, lauding us with noble traits instead of demonic ones, you remained still fearful to get close. At least, you would not stay close. You could hunt us, even capture us, and after thousands of years, find yourselves questioning just how you managed to create so many “breeds” of these littler domestic animals which, strangely, do not fear you the way we do. So be it. Inbreeding always has interesting results; no one knows that better than humans.

You learned our ways. You listened to our music and learned to harmonize. You watched us on our own hunts and learned the advantages of stealth, planning, ambush, and strength in numbers. You sneaked as close to our dens as your fear and comfort would permit you, and then marveled at how gentle and dedicated such creatures could be with their young. Of all the primates, you alone mimicked our societies, creating your own in their wake, but you misunderstood the need for wise leadership, and decided that the only true right was might. How many billions of your kind throughout history could fairly be described as “omega” because of this confusion? We did not impart cruelty to you. You developed that on your own. We did not cause unnecessary suffering. We took what we needed to live, and wasted next to nothing. Now you cry out for what has been lost, looking to us once again from entire wastelands you have created. We have to live on this planet, too, so perhaps there is time for one more alliance.

It might help to glimpse, even if just briefly, how it was, where we diverged. Perhaps we could both benefit from a history lesson, if for no other reason than to give an idea of symbolism run wild. We have always been that, more than anything else: a symbol of some artificial human projection into this world. We have been the Wild Hunters, the Admired Packs, the Ancestors of Dogs, your greatest allies, your most hated enemies. We occupy prime positions in the cultural mythologies of every human group which has lived near us, appearing as shape-shifters, tricksters, teachers, lesser deities, and, as you would have it, monsters, devourers, seducers, murderers. Return with us there now. Take a look at a piece of our mutual pasts.

We are wolves. And this is our story as well as yours.

Germany looks a bit different back then, does it not? Gone are the well-built cars, the factories which made them, and the toxins which flow from industrialization. Here, then, so many centuries past, the only waste is what even the insects will not eat. Just the bones, really, and of course, you have already fashioned them into more of your tools, demonstrating talent for recycling which exists side by side with your talent for wasting. For now, though, there is simply forest in this region, an immense creature in its own right, engulfing rivers and hills, and only stopping when it reaches shoreline or too high upon the mountains; it knows not the sound of the axe or the chainsaw or the bulldozer. It is no meager green stage for your dramas; it is alive, and in turn offers life to innumerable creatures who rely upon it, as do you, for food and shelter. This is still before the time when your kind vainly wondered whether a tree would make a sound when it fell in the forest and no one was there to hear it. Your wandering philosophizing can wait; in the meantime, know that there are always those around to hear that falling tree, but you have acquired difficulty considering their presence. This vast forest is an easy place for our kind to hide within. Perhaps that was some small part of your motive in destroying so much of it.

Look closely now. Remember that we are quite talented at concealment. Remain quiet, crouched to the earth, and maybe you’ll catch a glance of one of… Wait! There, atop on of the hills. Let us take a closer look.

Have you noticed the golden eyes yet? Or, perhaps, the footprints in the soft cool earth? These tracks have always been there, since you first grew such sizable cerebrums and started walking upright. Those amber eyes watch curiously and attentively; the stare of such a creature is disarming, making one wonder just what the intentions are of the brain behind them.

This first specimen should be obvious: the alpha female. A good description, that. It bespeaks both a sense of primacy, as well as a reminder that your attempt to understand us is ancient, as the denotation appears in the old tongue of your early philosophers. She sits alone for now, gazing down at the landscape unfolding beneath her. This has been a beneficial location for some time: a good water source in a nearby river; plenty of food to feed one’s pack; places in which to dig a den for one’s pups.

There are six of them this year. It has been a healthy time for this pack. Sometimes life can prove so bountiful for the wolves that even some of the betas might have litters of their own. That requires a tremendous territory, perhaps as much as 1800 square kilometers, with enough food for the extra mouths. Just marking the terrain against interlopers in such a region is a major task involving all adult pack members. But this female has never known such a domain. She finds herself content with less, and has aggressively ensured that only she mates.

She scans the land, sitting upon a rocky outcropping which affords views in all directions: the winding and rushing river to the north and east, with water still cold from the recent ongoing melting of the terminal European glaciers; the chuttering, buzzing forest to the south and west. This would be an ideal vantage point for a human, or an eagle, or any other primarily visual species. The wolves have excellent vision, too, even if it remains forever in black, white, and shades of gray. But this high point also proves useful for picking up scents and sounds. This alpha female has smelled deer from miles away merely by perching atop these rocks, and attuning her senses to the awaiting world.

Senses back to her comrades now, passing half a kilometer upwind, and in the less dense part of the forest. There walks her mate, the alpha male, all gray and tan and black and weighing a full ten stone. Hefty even for a wolf, yet he earned his position not through brute strength, but with cunning. Two leaders, this couple. Two distinct hierarchies, one for each gender. This hunt, like all those before and since, will be the result of teamwork. The large male does not betray anyone’s position; there will be time for socializing later. Food first, then relaxation and contentment. ***

The male merely looks at the three betas trotting up behind him, all four wolves keeping to their uniform trot. Efficient biological machines, all of them, able to maintain this regular eight kilometer-per-hour pace for most of a day, all days. A pair of twins, one of each gender, and another male who has survived an additional two winters, have joined the alpha male. The old male omega remains back at the rendezvous site with the half dozen scampering, eager, and perpetually curious and playful pups.

The four gray shadows continue their trot. Over these roots, under those branches, their padded feet leaving shallow tracks and mere whispers in the cool ground. They know they are being surveyed by the packs’ feminine leader, who will alert them with a quick but projective bark if their quarry is lost. They just need a close location, a place to observe, to study their prey and check for weaknesses which might prove exploitable. The adult hunters know this exercise, even the younger twins: the most difficult part of hunting is the waiting, the steely patience. All three of the lower-ranking pack members acknowledge their male leader with their own quick glances, and then it is back to waiting, then moving, then waiting more, for they are still learning the art of observing which individuals can be had with the least work. They trust their leaders; they must. Pack survival depends on this mutual trust.

This deceptively simple exercise is nothing less than a biological arms race, to use the human phrasing which will emerge centuries from the day of this hunt. A predator evolves its cunning, its speed, its brain, its natural weapons. Prey species simultaneously develop their keen hearing, sharp noses, agile legs. It is always a contest, part instinct, part desire, part adrenaline-rushing adventure. The roe deer near the meandering Danube are familiar with the wolves, indeed prefer to know their precise whereabouts. The forests make them nervous: too many places for predators to hide. Yet, the forests can conceal deer as well, and there is no shortage of food. These deer must be cautious, as always; drinking from the river itself is both risky and necessary, and this day has been warm. This warmth has made them lethargic and careless.

No more than a glance is necessary from the alpha male to his three underlings to begin the contest of survival anew. The three betas leave their secure positions, spacing themselves out so that twenty body lengths separate them. They demonstrate the discipline of soldiers on a live training exercise, again masking the sounds of their large feet. They must get closer to have a chance; otherwise, they return to the waiting game with their ungulate ambitions too far away to serve as dinner.

The alpha female surveys all of this with those haunting eyes. If eyes are truly windows offering glimpses of souls, then a lively spirit indeed must dwell behind this pair of small but piercing yellow globes. She stands at last, and at once begins to navigate down from her rocky observatory into the perpetual dusk of the forest. She can smell her comrades even from here, and her presence in the rear will enable her to cut off any of the deer which might outmaneuver her companions in this direction. She has noticed her mate’s shrewdness: the river is on two sides of the deer, the thicker forest on another. The wolves occupy the final dimension, thereby making escape quite trying.

The others can see the deer much closer. A good herd, this: several bucks and two dozen does, some drinking, the others nibbling grass or looking warily around. It is not easy for them, either; constant vigilance must accompany their speed and reflexes for them to survive. Prey species never evolve as intelligently as predators, but they are nonetheless well-equipped to survive. Indeed, the predators are nothing without them.

An eager male beta wolf, one of the twins, can hardly contain himself. He wants so truly to charge, even though he realizes the others will chastise him if he ruins the hunt. So close now! The thick old trees provide plenty of visual cover, but unlike the human hunters, the deer and the wolves can locate each other so easily by noticing scents and sounds. This drooling young beta allows his hunger to get the best of him. He steps carelessly.

Such a delicate sound, a paw plunging into a mud puddle. But it is distinct, and enough. The deer simultaneously prick up their oval ears, aiming them towards the beta. He has already frozen, hoping yet for a positive outcome. His breathing makes not a sound now, after he clamps his hot mouth shut, and his companions have similarly stopped all discernible motion. The beta licks the outside of his muzzle. Even the alpha male, twenty meters behind now, has crouched and become invisible, hoping the ruse might still work.

And then the group behavior of survival, common to so many social species which live under threat of predation: first one deer, then a second, then dozens, flail hooves and kick up loose, loamy soil, and the chase begins. The younger wolves are close enough that they might yet succeed. Their footing must prove surer, since the deer are actually faster: their prime advantage in the genetic arms race.

But now there is a more observable race. Gone for now is the stealth and planning and patience. Only pursuit remains. The wolves know they are slower, which is precisely why they must be smarter. For all their strategy and skill with an ambush, roughly one hunt in ten will actually manage to feed them. They sprint with iron muscle and coursing adrenaline, mouths agape and tongues tasting the air and the dirt raised by hooves. The female twin gets close enough to a younger deer to snap once at a hind leg, but no, the quarry leaps easily over the exposed roots of an ancient tree; the attempted bite leaves her top-heavy for an instant, and she must spend a moment navigating over the same woody extension. It costs her some precious proximity, but she will not yet quit.

Her twin runs with the alpha male, eager to atone for his mistake; it was a good trap they set, and he would be shamed to have ruined it. This desire to both please and apologize grants him an edge, as he remains focused utterly on a single animal. That is the trick, when the patience can finally be abandoned: to keep all senses locked on an individual, so that the group is forgotten. The dance of death is thus reducible to just two partners. The alpha male observes this focus and tries to cut off both animals, the other wolf and the deer. If he can do so, the other pack members can encircle the single prey animal, which would transform this exercise into a question of time.

Tired and panting, knowing his sprinting speed cannot last long, though it can reach fifty kilometers an hour, the alpha still grunts and extends his stride just a touch further, and when the lone deer notices him, it panics.

It turns away from the alpha. In so doing, it has turned away from the herd, away from escape. Perhaps it already knows it is surrounded. Doomed. But life never quits, and nor does this deer, its seemingly fragile representative. Life struggles. ***

And perhaps this is the first behavior which made the humans so nervous. They do not generally tolerate this sort of thing in domestic dogs; to people, it seems so unforgiving and frightening. It is the growling and the exposing of so many teeth that elicits the flight, fight, or fright response. But it is merely part of the way for the predators. Baring teeth and snarling might be related to the hunt, or it might establish or reinforce the pack hierarchy, or it might simply be done for fun. But it always has meaning, despite the trepidation of humans. Now, of course, it is part of the hunt, and the betas keep their spacing, offering no escape to this young buck. It darts behind another tree, dashes clean over another shrub. The alpha male is already there to intercept it.

And this is the ritual, the dance of survival. Even with a less impressive-looking kill like this, the smaller creatures will benefit still: scavenging foxes, rodents, birds, insects, all the way down to bacteria. This is part of the sacred cycle: violent, yes; dangerous, absolutely; and also wholly essential to what humans will eventually call an ecosystem. The wolves will rest well this night, bellies full for another day. The young pups will also receive portions of this feast, the adults taking food back to them.

Yet for all their sensory apparatus and intelligence, for all the fear they engender in some of the species which live near them, the wolf pack members have yet to learn that someone else has located their rendezvous. Busy at the kill site, the adults remain unaware of the several creatures flattened onto their bellies, inching their cautious way towards another, smaller hill. The alpha female dug the nearby den, not needing to evict any prior tenants. As the soil here proved soft enough to mask sounds, it was an easy and secure place to dig. And this rendezvous location is the first chance the pups have to interact with a larger world, as they run and jump and nip playfully at the older omega, who displays saintly patience with the energetic and rambunctious brood. These seven wolves enjoy the shade of the surrounding trees, granting a safe view of the neighboring terrain. The pack recognized its advantages, determined the site to be quite safe, but never considered this new type of interloper.

Their twenty-first century descendants might register shock at the sight of them, but these are nonetheless humans: one of the four remaining great apes, the only survivor among the various branches of the hominid tree. The Cro-magnon and Neanderthal are already gone from the world, leaving this creature, Homo Sapiens, in their wake. There are two males and a female here, dressed in skins and hides and simple coverings passing as shoes. Each carries a long wooden spear, not straight enough for throwing, with a carved granite tip. Primitive tools, these; the humans at this stage, when the ice is finally receding and agriculture has yet to permit overwhelming specialization of tasks, still seem much the same as their so-called “cavepeople” ancestors, right down to the animal images this group has painted on stone walls. Still, those advanced cerebrums allow for rapid learning and quick dissemination of sensory data. Thus the interest in the wolves’ rendezvous site.

The omega notices them at last, his faithful snout alerting him. The humans have been careful, and while their noses might be superior to those of the billions of more “civilized” members of their kind which will follow them, they are mere appendages compared to the olfactory receptors the wolves possess. Thousands of times more sensitive, the omega’s nasal passage has registered something it knows only as foreign, and therefore to be treated with caution, especially considering his responsibility. The pups notice it too, of course, but have not learned sufficient discrimination among competing scents, and choose to ignore it.

The omega quickly weighs each option available to him. He can try and escort the half-dozen squirming pups to shelter back at the den. He can bark, snarl, and growl at the interlopers, hoping to scare them off. Or he can howl until his lungs burn, hoping that the rest of the pack members are still within range of his vocal abilities. He selects the latter.

The pups join him, still thinking it all just a game, but it works. The humans freeze, thankful for their own partial shelter amidst the rocks and trees, and listen to this eerie, piercing, haunting sound. No other noise in the world comes close to replicating a wolf’s howl. Whether done for sorrow or celebration, to signal a gathering or a warning, the music of the wolves is absolutely distinct, rising into the sky and carrying for kilometers. Even the pups, in their limited experience with wolf song, already provide a natural harmony. The effect makes these seven sound like dozens, an impressive canid choir.

The people are now the anxious ones, unable to resist glancing about for the other animals which surely must be responsible for this much noise. The baying encourages shivers, and is felt in the very spines of the humans. They will have to return and try to observe the wolves another time. Indeed, already the rest of the pack is scrambling towards the rendezvous site, even with the slowness resulting from sated bellies; “meat drunk,” the human trappers will one day call this. But they come anyway; they know the sounds of their own relatives, distinguishable from other wolves. To the people, it is all so much howling.

But as the humans retreat, they cast glances back at the site, already unable to see the now hiding elder and the pups in his care. These people will remember: they have seen the wary animals and how they behave, and wonder what it would be like to live with such creatures. In these forested hills in the future Deutschland, it is still centuries before the sweeping domestication which will forever alter so many plant and animal species into variants more adapted for human utilization.

And yes, the long-term descendants of these very animals will be known as German Shepherds, Siberian Huskies, Irish Setters, Pekingeses and Dalmatians: different breeds from different lands selectively created by human interference for different purposes. So what went wrong? If the wolves and the humans were close enough to create such a myriad of domesticated forms in places around the globe, then why did the wild wolves and the domestic humans part ways, learning to distrust each other as they did on this day? Why were some of these dog breeds even created to hunt wolves, in a genuinely ironic turn? There was no overt hostility here in the Black Forest this day, only wariness. No violence, just curiosity expressed by two intelligent species. But if the dog is descended from the wolf, and the dog is the man’s best friend, but the man yet loathes the wolf, then something has gone awry. Yet this is only one small region of the Earth, an early chapter in their relations with one another. Time to explore other possibilities shall come later.

For these are wolves. And this is their story as well as ours. ***

© Copyright Edwin D. Wollert 2003