With all her big brothers and sisters off to school, our ranch
became a lonely place for our three-year-old daughter, Becky.
She longed for playmates. Cattle and horses were too big to
cuddle and farm machinery dangerous for a child so small.
We promised to buy her a puppy but in the meantime,
"pretend" puppies popped up nearly every day.
I had just finished washing the lunch dishes when the screen
door slammed and Becky rushed in, cheeks flushed with
excitement. "Mama!" she cried. "Come see my new doggy!
I gave him water two times already. He's so thirsty!"
I sighed. Another of Becky's imaginary dogs.
"Please come, Mama." She tugged at my jeans, her
brown eyes pleading, "He's crying--- and he can't walk!"
"Can't walk?" Now that was a twist. All her previous
make-believe dogs could do marvelous things. One balanced
a ball on the end of its nose. Another dug a hole that went all
the way through the earth and fell out on a star on the other side.
Still another danced on a tightrope. Why suddenly a dog that
couldn't walk?
"All right, honey," I said. By the time I tried to follow her,
Becky had already disappeared into the mesquite.
"Where are you?" I called.
"Over here by the oak stump. Hurry, Mama!"
I parted the thorny branches and raised my hand against
the glare of the Arizona sun. A numbing chill gripped me.
There she was, sitting on her heels, toes dug firmly in the sand,
and cradled in her lap was the unmistakable head of a wolf!
Beyond its head rose massive black shoulders. The rest of the
body lay completely hidden inside the hollow stump of a fallen oak.
"Becky," My mouth felt dry. "Don't move." I stepped closer.
Pale-yellow eyes narrowed. Black lips tightened, exposing
double sets of two-inch fangs. Suddenly the wolf trembled.
Its teeth clacked, and a piteous whine rose from its throat.
"It's all right, boy," Becky crooned. "Don't be afraid.
That's my mama, and she loves you, too."
Then the unbelievable happened. As her tiny hands stroked
the great shaggy head, I heard the gentle thump, thump,
thumping of the wolf's tail from deep inside the stump.
What was wrong with the animal? I wondered. Why couldn't
he get up? I couldn't tell. Nor did I dare to step any closer.
I glanced at the empty water bowl. My memory flashed back
to the five skunks that last week had torn the burlap from a
leaking pipe in a frenzied effort to reach water during the final
agonies of rabies. Of course! Rabies! Warning signs had been
posted all over the county, and hadn't Becky said, "He's so thirsty?"
I had to get Becky away. "Honey." My throat tightened.
"Put his head down and come to Mama. We'll go find help."
Reluctantly, Becky got up and kissed the wolf on the nose
before she walked slowly into my outstrectched arms. Sad
yellow eyes followed her. Then the wolf's head sank to the ground.
With Becky safe in my arms, I ran to the barns where Brian,
one of our cowhands, was saddling up to check heifers in the
north pasture.
"Brian! Come quickly. Becky found a wolf in the oak stump
near the wash! I think it has rabies!"
"I'll be there in a jiffy," he said as I hurried back to the house,
anxious to put Becky down for her nap. I didn't want her to
see Brian come out of the bunkhouse. I knew he'd have a gun.
"But I want to give my doggy his water," she cried.
I kissed her and gave her some stuffed animals to play with.
"Honey, let Mom and Brian take care of him for now," I said.
Moments later, I reached the oak stump. Brian stood looking down
at the beast. "It's a Mexican lobo, all right." he said, " and a big one!"
The wolf whined. Then we both caught the smell of gangrene.
"Whew! It's not rabies," Brian said. "But he's sure hurt real bad.
Don't you think it's best I put him out of his misery?"
The world "yes" was on my lips, when Becky emerged from the
bushes. "Is Brian going to make him well, Mama?" She hauled the
animal's head onto her lap once more, and buried her face in the
coarse, dark fur. This time I wasn't the only one who heard the
thumping of the lobo's tail.
That afternoon my husband, Bill, and our veterinarian came to see
the wolf. Observing the trust the animal had in our child, Doc said
to me, "Suppose you let Becky and me tend to this fella together."
Minutes later, as child and vet reassured the stricken beast, the
hypodermic found its mark. The yellow eyes closed.
"He's asleep now," said the vet. "Give me a hand here, Bill."
They hauled the massive body our of the stump. The animal must
have been over five feet long and well over one-hundred pounds.
The hip and leg had been mutilated by bullets. Doc did what he
had to in order to clean the wound and then gave the patient a dose
of penicillin. Next day he returned and inserted a metal rod to
replace the missing bone.
"Well, it looks like you've got yourselves a Mexican lobo," Doc said.
"He looks to be about three years old, and even as pups, they don't
tame real easy. I"m amazed at the way this big fella took to your
little gal. But often there's something that goes on between children
and animals that we grownups don't understand."
Becky named the wolf Ralph and carried food and water
to the stump every day. Ralph's recovery was not easy.
For three months he dragged his injured hindquarters by clawing
the earth with his front paws. From the way he lowered his eyelids
when we massaged the atrophied limbs, we knew he endured
excruciating pain, but not once did he ever try to bite the hands
of those who cared for him.
Four months to the day, Ralph finally stood unaided.
His huge frame shook as long- unused muscles were activated.
Bill and I patted and praised him. But it was Becky to whom
he turned for a gentle word, a kiss or a smile. He responded
to these gestures of love by swinging his busy tail like a pendulum.
As his strength grew, Ralph followed Becky all over the ranch.
Together they roamed the desert pastures, the golden-haired
child often stooping low, sharing with the great lame wolf
whispered secrets of nature's wonders. When evening came,
he returned like a silent shadow to his hollow stump that had
surely become his special place. As time went on, although
he lived primarily in the brush, the habits of this timid creature
endeared him more and more to all of us.
His reaction to people other than our family was yet another
story. Strangers terrified him, yet his affection for and protectiveness
of Becky brought him out of the desert and fields at the sight of every
unknown pickup or car. Occasionally he'd approach, lips taut, exposing
a nervous smile full of chattering teeth. More often he'd simply pace
and finally skulk off to his tree stump, perhaps to worry alone.
Becky's first day of school was sad for Ralph. After the bus left,
he refused to return to the yard. Instead, he lay by the side of the
road and waited. When Becky returned, he limped and tottered in
wild, joyous circles around her. This welcoming ritual persisted
throughout her school years.
Although Ralph seemed happy on the ranch, he disappeared
into the surrounding deserts and mountains for several weeks
during the spring mating season, leaving us to worry about his
safety. This was calving season, and fellow ranchers watched
for coyotes, cougars, wild dogs and, of course, the lone wolf.
But Ralph was lucky.
During Ralph's twelve years on our ranch, his habits remained
unchanged. Always keeping his distance, he tolerated other
pets and endured the activities of our busy family, but his love
for Becky never wavered. Then the spring came when our
neighbor told us he'd shot and killed a she-wolf and grazed
her mate, who had been running with her. Sure enough,
Ralph returned home with another bullet wound.
Becky, nearly fifteen years old now, sat with Ralph's head resting
on her lap. He, too, must have been about fifteen and was gray
with age. As Bill removed the bullet, my memory raced back
through the years. Once again I saw a chubby three-year-old girl
stroking the head of a huge black wolf and heard a small voice
murmuring, "It's all right, boy. Don't be afraid. That's my mama,
and she loves you, too."
Although the wound wasn't serious, this time Ralph didn't get well.
Precious pounds fell away. The once luxurious fur turned dull and
dry, and his trips to the yard in search of Becky's companionship
ceased. All day long he rested quietly.
But when night fell, old and stiff as he was, he disappeared into
the desert and surrounding hills. By dawn his food was gone.
The morning came when we found him dead. The yellow eyes
were closed. Stretched out in front of the oak stump, he appeared
but a shadow of the proud beast he once had been. A lump in my
throat choked me as I watched Becky stroke his shaggy neck,
tears streaming down her face. "I'll miss him so," she cried.
Then as I covered him with a blanket, we were startled by a strange
rustling sound from inside the stump. Becky looked inside. Two tiny
yellow eyes peered back and puppy fangs glinted in the semi-darkness.
Ralph's pup!
Had a dying instinct told him his motherless offspring would be safe
here, as he had been, with those who loved him? Hot tears spilled
on baby fur as Becky gathered the trembling bundle in her arms.
"It's all right, little . . . Ralphie," she murmured. "Don't be afraid.
That's my mom, and she loves you, too."
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