There Are Nights When The Wolves Are Silent and Only The Moon Howls
Photos of a wild and beautiful animal who lived his entire life never knowing he was supposed to fear humans
He was three feet tall at the shoulder, six feet long from his coal black nose to the tip of his perpetually wagging tail, and he loved everyone.
He played no favorites. In his mind, all people were his people.
All you had to do was yell Hey Buddy, and he’d come running. Ninety-odd pounds of excitement, tongue wagging, and that crazy tail looking for all the world like it was going to wag itself right off his body.
Didn’t matter who it was. Old faces and young ones, old friends or new. Didn’t matter a lick to him. There was no one he didn’t love.
He was born that way, they said.
Ever since he was a young pup, when they first got the call and went to get him, that’s all he ever wanted. Just to be with people. If he heard human voices, his instinct was to run to them instead of away.
That’s why they had to lock him up.
For the rest of his life.
Buddy was a timber wolf and once upon a time, his ancestors covered two thirds of America and much of Europe.
Then the pilgrims arrived and set a bounty on wolves. A penny a pelt, which is about 40 cents in today’s money. That’s how little they valued the life of a wolf. Religious people, killing off their God’s creatures.
If that wasn’t bad enough, when the federal government was first formed, they agreed that all wolves should be exterminated. Menace to society.
To justify the slaughter, they painted them as snarling beasts that howl at the moon and are driven crazy by the scent of blood. Terrifying creatures that travel in packs of 30 or 50, killing entire herds of game animals.
None of that is true. We made it up. To justify slaughtering them.