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|  | | Mike Murray | | in my own words |
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| | | | Kisha's Song
Chapater 12: Time and Space
--by Mike Murray
Winter in the north was all that Grant had hoped it would be. He sipped his morning brew and marveled at the view from the kitchen window. A overnight snowfall had added to an already impressive accumulation. A nearby tree stood in stark relief, its dark gray contrasting against the bright white ground cover, its massive trunk disappearing into the ever-deepening snow pack.
Kelly and Kisha were already out there somewhere. They had developed the habit of heading out each morning when Grant rose to freshen the fire. He pictured them, happily chasing each other or running down a rabbit.
Sue was sleeping in for once. She'd been up late working the night before, and she was thoroughly tuckered. Then too, physical exertion took its toll this time of year; Sue had made a trip into town with Kelly only sixteen hours earlier, her first extended trek in snow shoes. Grant reckoned that she'd be out for a good while longer.
He reflected on the forays the canines recently had been making into the woods. It seemed to Grant that their trips were lengthening, even as the weather was turning harsher. He considered that irony for a moment. Perhaps they weren't really traveling greater distances. Perhaps they were continuing to traverse their same old routes in spite of the worsening conditions; if so, the rougher weather could be slowing them down, making their trips necessarily more time-consuming.
Perhaps.
But the nagging concern that had lately gripped him refused to abate. Despite his best efforts at rationalizing it away -- or of avoiding it altogether -- the feeling was growing. Something was wrong. Something inescapable, something he'd ultimately be forced to deal with.
Sue arose and was mildly annoyed. "Why did you let me sleep so long?"
She was normally an early riser. Sue was accustomed to soaring with the eagles. Grant, on the other hand, was in the habit of hooting with the owls. On those rare occasions when he got up before Sue did, then, she somehow felt negligent. Grant poured her a cup of coffee. Sue wrapped herself in an Afghan comforter and settled into the over-stuffed couch to sip it.
"Where are the puppies?" she asked.
Grant chuckled at that characterization. It amused him that women tended to assign cute names to physically imposing creatures. To him, an adult wolf was no more a puppy than a mountain lion was a kitten.
"They're outside somewhere..." Grant was interrupted by the sound of Kelly tapping the door with her paw -- her way of asking to be let in.
Kisha might have been half wolf, but she had taken to greeting Grant and Sue with the same domestically ritualistic enthusiasm that Kelly did. The two canines jumped alternatively on their human pack mates, then bounded off to roughneck around the cabin.
Sue prepared the animals' breakfast, a concoction of meat and kibble, then refilled their water bowls. The completion of that act marked the official start of the day.
A few hours later, while the canines were out on another extended romp outside, Sue asked Grant if he'd noticed that they seemed to be spending greater periods of time away from the cabin. He acknowledged that he had. But what he didn't say mattered more. What he didn't reveal was his suspicion about the significance of their ever-lengthening forays into the woods.
There had been times lately, for example, when long mid-day trips had left them uninterested in their evening meal. Grant knew that healthy canines seldom turn down meat, most especially when there are two or more of them in the same pack. Competition alone is usually enough to ensure eager consumption -- lest another get one's share.
There was no doubt about it, these animals were acting strangely. The only explanation Grant could come up with troubled him: Kisha and Kelly were returning home with full bellies. That they were hunting didn't concern him. It was a natural activity for wolves -- and for dogs too, for that matter. But achieving success to such a degree that meals at home could be skipped altogether was another matter. Grant didn't know quite what to make of it.
And then the other shoe dropped. The night came when neither Kelly nor Kisha returned from their evening venture. While Grant was concerned, Sue was frantic. At first light, she wanted to head out to look for them. Grant persuaded her to wait. The outdoor temperature had turned brutal. Canines could handle it, but humans were another story. Especially humans who were not yet wise in the ways of this harsh territory.
Hours passed and Sue was becoming more and more upset. She had always considered Kelly to be a member of the family -- a child, almost. Her concern for Kelly's disappearance was fast approaching a mother's desperation over a missing baby. Sue had grown close to Kisha, too. And she sorely coveted her return. But it was Kelly's absence that had her nearly hysterical.
Grant was worried, too, but he tried not to show it. The changes in Kisha and Kelly these past weeks were, he realized, connected to his feelings of dread. He just didn't know precisely how. Or maybe he was just unwilling to confront the unpleasant truth.
Finally, dog and wolf-dog trotted up to the cabin door and tapped. The humans were ecstatic; the canines were confused. What was all the fuss about?
That night Kisha and Kelly had to take their post-dinner trip outside tethered to leashes. Sue was adamant about that. And when they asked to be let out again later that evening, she denied the request altogether. Whining had no impact on her. Sue was not about to spend another night worrying herself sick.
Kisha moved to the door, sat, and lifted her head. She let out a howl. It was a sad, mournful sound. After an encore, Kelly moved over and licked Kisha's face. The wolf-dog continued to sing her plaintive song. And then Kelly sat and lifted her own head. She produced a sound that, while not exactly the same as Kisha's, was unmistakably similar in intent.
"Oh my God!" Sue blurted. "Do you hear that? What is Kelly doing?"
Grant just shrugged. But he was beginning to understand. And he was beginning to prepare himself for the inevitable.
Deep down, he knew -- suspected, at least -- that the wilderness had begun to call to Kisha. Just as this country had beckoned him, it now beckoned her. And it did so in a way even more primal. Kisha was "fearfully and wonderfully made." More than Grant could ever hope to be, she was part of this natural world. Her longing to embrace it had become intense.
But Grant was surprised by Kelly's behavior. He could see now that something was stirring in her, too. Grant had failed to fully grasp the intensity of the bond that had developed between Kisha and Kelly. If the wilderness tugged at one canine it also, by extension, exerted a gravitational pull on the other.
Grant didn't dare communicate his suspicion to Sue. For, although she had become attached to Kisha, he figured that parting with her would be tolerable. Losing Kelly, however, would be quite another matter. Such a loss would surely devastate Sue. So Grant kept quiet.
A couple more days passed during which Sue continued to insist that the canines be restrained while outside. There were no more free-roaming trips through the woods. Kisha moped, and Kelly moped in sympathy. Sue knew it couldn't last. She had to know, Grant imagined, that they'd eventually have to be allowed to wander around more freely.
Sue did realize as much. But she was only willing to grant the off-leash privilege to Kisha. Once unfettered, the wolf-dog again headed straight for the woods. Kelly was forced to remain behind. Kisha did not return that night. Or the next. While the human members of the pack fretted, Kelly was beyond consolation. She paced. She whined. She missed Kisha terribly.
When the wolf-dog did return a couple of days later, it was cause for celebration. Grant and Sue were out in the yard clearing snow when Kisha approached. Kelly yelped with excitement. Tethered to Sue's waist by a leash, she dragged her along in her rush to greet her friend. She bathed her pack-mate's face in kisses. Both tails wagged happily. Dog and wolf-dog lowered themselves into the traditional play-bow position, and then they hopped about excitedly.
Grant persuaded Sue to free Kelly from her restraint. After all, now home after a long period away, Kisha was unlikely to leave. And, that being the case, Kelly was similarly unlikely to run off. Once loose, Kelly lunged at Kisha in pretend attack. They knocked each other over, playfully rolling around in the snow. They scooted around with their butts low to the ground in silly fashion.
They played like that for a full thirty minutes before settling down. Seeing that they had finished, Sue decided that it was time for all to return to the cabin. She called Kelly to her, and then proceeded to the door. As Grant, Sue, and Kelly prepared to enter, they noticed that Kisha had not followed. She remained where she was. Grant called her but she refused to budge. Instead, she sat down.
Grant was briefly confused. And then he knew.
The moment he had been dreading had arrived. Kisha was ready. She was ready to enter her own world. She had only recently been introduced to this forest, but that made it no less her home. Just as he had longed for an existence more physical, more connected to the natural world, so too had she longed.
And, just as he had always subconsciously straddled two worlds -- the structured, civilized world into which he was born and the world that awaited him up north -- so too had she coexisted. She was half dog and she was half wolf. She had spent most of her life in the world of the domesticated dog. But now she was being pulled, pulled every bit as forcefully as Grant had been, into her own destiny. She was being pulled into the life of the wolf.
Suddenly, so quickly that Sue could not react quickly enough to stop her, Kelly bolted out the door and over to Kisha. When she got to within a few feet of her friend, however, she was frozen in her tracks. The wolf-dog growled a threat so menacing that it stopped Kelly cold.
Kisha lowered her head to a position horizontal to her body. She pinned her ears back. She flared her nostrils. She raised the fur on her back. She narrowed her yellow eyes to slits and she burned holes with them into Kelly's wide orbs. Kisha again vocalized her terrifying warning.
Kelly was stunned. Why was her friend acting this way? Why was Kisha warning her off? Kelly dropped down and slinked humbly forward. Kisha leaned in, lips curled, teeth bared, and nipped the dog's nose, much as a pack elder would in correcting a wayward cub's behavior. Kelly yelped and rolled over onto her back. She wet herself. She whimpered in fear.
Kisha kept up the display for a few seconds longer, then withdrew. Kelly took the opportunity to retreat. She was stopped by the sound of Kisha's howl. She turned and sat, facing the wolf-dog. She was thoroughly confused. Why had her friend rejected her? And, having done so, why was she now engaging her in communal song?
Kisha stared at Kelly with a friendly countenance. She lifted her nose and again howled. Finally aware, Kelly joined her in song. They carried on that way for some time. Kelly looked at her friend longingly. Both tails wagged in graceful melancholy. Then Kelly got up and walked over to Sue.
Grant locked eyes with the wolf-dog. He lifted his face skyward and sang, sang the song Kisha had taught him. Kisha joined him in harmony. Grant knelt down to his friend and surrounded her in hearty embrace.
Then he shoved her away playfully. She lunged back in mock attack. Grant took Kisha's face between his hands and the wolf-dog clamped her teeth around his nose one last time. He leaned into Kisha and whispered something, whereupon she delicately flicked her tail and licked his face.
Grant rose to his feet.
Man and wolf-dog stared deeply into one another's eyes. After a tortured moment, Kisha turned toward the trees and trotted away. As she disappeared into the woods, Grant wondered if she would one day forget him. He was certain that his memory of her would persist -- through all manner of time and space.
Copyright © 2005 Michael F. Murray -- All rights reserved.
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