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| | | | Kisha's Song
Chapter 1: The Wolf-Dog
--by Mike Murray
It was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. But he couldn't help himself; something compelled him to act. To act immediately. There might never be another chance.
To this point, life had been more than he expected in a few ways and decidedly less in others. Like so many people, he had once dreamed the big dreams of youth. But the years had drifted by and he had learned--as he supposed so many other adult children had learned before him--to expect little of life.
Negative results from medical tests, the safe return of loved ones from daily excursions, a hairline that cooperated by not receding too quickly. These marked the small grantings of life these days.
It wasn't always so. He never wanted to be president. He never imagined himself a captain of industry. Fame and fortune never beckoned. But he did have dreams. Dreams of pursuing athletics to its fullest conclusion, of traveling to the Olympic Trials and taking a shot at making the team at 1500 meters.
Dreams of moving north. Way north. So far north that winters brought numbing temperatures dozens of degrees below zero. To a latitude in which wood stoves were not charming amenities, but absolute necessities.
He had always had a deep yearning in him for something nowhere to be found in modern society. He yearned for the primal. He yearned for a life that was physically hard, close to nature.
But it seemed not to be. He followed in the well-worn paths of those who had gone before him. He went a little further in school, progressed a little further in the workplace. And, though he had given athletics a shot when he was young, he had put aside his ambitions in that area as he had the many other musings of his youth.
He was settled into mid-life. Dug in. A wife. A dog. Community activities. He hadn't been blessed with children, but he was reasonably content. Certainly, life could be a lot worse. He reckoned that more than half his allotted time on planet Earth had elapsed, and he had reconciled himself to settling for what he had.
Until now.
Kisha awakened something in him. Something powerful. She represented opportunity. Kisha reminded Grant that he once had dreams; she made Grant consider--consider for the first time in many years--changing his life. In Kisha he saw the wonderful, natural world that lay up north.
Kisha was a dog. More accurately, she was a wolf with a little dog in her. How she had ended up in the local shelter was unclear to Grant. But he recognized the wild in her. She pulled at him. Tugged at him as surely as if he were a wolf, too.
Kisha didn't belong in Cleveland. Neither, it was becoming clear to him, did he.
What to do? Grant weighed the options. None were pretty. How, exactly, would he broach the subject with his wife? "Hi, Sue. How was your day? Oh, by the way, this is Kisha; I adopted her from the shelter. She's mostly wolf. I think we should move to Alaska."
Grant wasn't clairvoyant, but something told him the idea wouldn't be a big hit with Sue. And he hadn't a clue as to how Kelly would take to the idea of living with a wolf-dog. Kelly was a happy-go-lucky pooch with some northern breed in her. Among other things, she appeared to be part Norwegian Elkhound. Kisha and Kelly had that much in common: a past that involved cold, snowy climes.
But Kelly was fully domesticated. Sure, she chased critters. Caught them, sometimes. There was some flicker of her distant wolf heritage. But she was mostly house dog. Fully a member of the family, she got a supplemental portion of the dinner meat each evening to go with her kibble, two walks through the neighborhood each day, and a place in Grant and Sue's bed.
There was not much hint of domestication in Kisha. She tolerated humans. Refrained from attacking them. Accepted food from them. Even allowed a collar to be placed around her neck and a leash to be attached.
But she didn't crave affection from people. The dog in her accounted for her mild comfort level in dealing with humans. But she had not much psychological need for human companionship. She viewed people as creatures capable--when so inclined--of providing food and shelter. Not too much more.
Not only were Kelly and Kisha at very different points on the canine continuum, they were potential competitors. Both were females. Though Kisha was larger in height, Kelly was more substantial in girth. The result was an overall similarity of size and weight. And, as near as Grant could tell, they were within a year or two in age. Kelly was four; Kisha seemed a tad younger.
Same gender. Similar weight. Close in age. In the canine world, that combination is often a prescription for trouble. Kelly would likely try to maintain her status in the household pack; Kisha just might venture a challenge.
Prudence would have dictated that Grant steer clear of Kisha. It was hard to see how she'd fit into his life. He already had a wife (who would be reluctant to pull up stakes) and a fully domesticated dog.
But Kisha pulled hard at Grant. Pulled irresistibly.
In Kisha he saw his chance--almost surely his last chance--to pursue the central dream of his life. How could he walk away from that?
He realized that he couldn't stop himself now, even if he wanted to. And he didn't want to. The what was settled. All that remained was the how.
Grant expected difficulty at home. Neither his wife nor his dog would likely understand why he was bringing this wolf into their lives. And he didn't much relish bringing up the topic of a move to the snowy north, either. So he determined to deal with all that later. The immediate concern was getting Kisha home.
He decided not to wait for Wednesday. Wednesday was his regular shift at the shelter. He walked dogs in the morning, giving the pooches the chance to relieve themselves and to get some fresh air and exercise. This being Sunday, he figured time was not on his side. Kisha came to the shelter on Friday; her three-day waiting period would be up on Monday. She would be eligible for adoption in only a day or so.
No, he couldn't take the chance that someone would adopt her before Wednesday. He'd have to act quickly.
Amid the many thoughts swirling around in his head, more worries bubbled up. Changing his life by moving north would be difficult. Would his marriage survive? Would Kelly understand? For sure, his extended family (biological and in-law) would deem him foolish. Or worse.
And what about the shelter? Spending time there had been a very big part of his life. The hours he spent walking the rescued dogs were among the most rewarding and pleasurable of his week.
So much of his life was mere settling, in one way or another. Accepting the disappointments and the limitations of adulthood. But when he was helping the mutts at the shelter, it was different. He felt fulfilled. The dogs there returned his affection. They gave him companionship.
Sure, he got that at home too. But the animals at the shelter were needy. What Grant was able to give them mattered. It mattered more than did his giving to Sue or Kelly, or to anyone else. When he helped the rescued dogs, he was making a difference. A real difference. And Grant had always yearned to spend in his time in ways that had measurable, meaningful impact.
So now he contemplated that extra bit of unpleasantness.
The actions he was planning now stood to cause even more problems. It wasn't enough that he was probably about to make his wife, his dog, and his extended family miserable. He was also on the verge of walking out on the other shelter canines.
Grant couldn't think about that now. There would be plenty of time later for recriminations. He would ease his conscious with rationalization: did he really believe that no one else could properly care for the dogs? Surely there were others who could do as good a job, or better, as he. As for the problem of how to deal with Sue and Kelly, well, he had no answers just now.
What mattered now was getting Kisha home.
Copyright © 2005 Michael F. Murray -- All rights reserved.
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