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thought that their relationship was
too unusual to be real; but now, I understand differently … they
have a pact. Lune and Christopher are going to care for her, no
matter what. They are a pack, connected in spirit. One of the most
powerful fears for anyone dealing with wolves … is the pack. They
hunt as one, play as one, communicate as one. Their relationship
has never been understood, becoming the substance of folklore.
    I have to admit, what I am witnessing is, in
fact, the perfect example of an unbelievable story that if retold,
would make me sound like a lunatic.
    How ironic that this could have been written
as one of the many myths I’ve read. Or any one of the many myths
I've heard spoken by the tribal elders. Legends that I have
entertained as stories from primitive people … they don’t seem so
primitive anymore.
    When Christopher starts whispering to someone
standing over the trio, the hair on the back of my neck stands up
on end. Incoherent, with a pleading tone, he mumbles to an unseen
individual. And I understand right away that he is asking for help
… but from whom?
    “What is it? What’s happening?” I can’t keep
the anxiety from my voice, and knowing that hiding my feelings from
Christopher is useless; I set down the cord of wood and enter the
pen.
    “She can’t get the first pup to pass … it's
stuck, and she’s in pain.” He is keeping her calm, but as he speaks
she whimpers softly.
    While he holds her, I reach down and notice
the sack around the baby is starting to pass, and then slides back
in, disappearing from sight. On the next contraction, I firmly grab
with my fingers and probe to find out how the pup is positioned.
Turning it gently, so I can feel the muzzle and shoulders, I pull
the rest of the tiny form out. As the sack tears I notice the
malformed shoulder and twisted front paw. Quickly bending around,
Ursa begins to clean up the pup and chew through the umbilical
cord.
    Looking up, I become aware of the disturbing
fact that Christopher wasn’t just keeping her calm … he has been
keeping her from attacking me. Forgetting how dangerous wild
animals can be when they’re in pain is a rookie mistake. I can’t
believe how foolish I’ve become, so very reckless and passive.
    I look at Christopher, and for a moment he
looks frustrated by the fact I can’t understand him, without him
actually speaking to me. “Michael, she wants you to take him now…
she says something is wrong.”
    “There is. He’s malformed, and so far … not
breathing.” I pick up the tiny body and start rubbing his sides.
Then delicately pushing my finger in past his tiny teeth, I scoop
out any fluid and start blowing lightly into his nose and mouth. I
can feel his little rib cage expand but he isn’t alive, no breath
escapes that I haven’t forced out by rubbing. After ten minutes of
rubbing and breathing for the pup, I take the stethoscope and
listen, confirming what I already know to be true … he is
stillborn. I place the limp body by Ursa’s muzzle, she licks him a
couple times and Lune prods him with his nose. Then Lune gently
picks up the first pup by the scruff of its neck and moves it over
to the edge of the pen, where Ursa won’t have to see it. Returning,
he repositions himself where he was before, next to his mate.
    “They know you did your best … but she says
the pup just wasn’t meant to survive. Michael, the next one is
coming, and she says she doesn’t think this one is alive either.”
Between Ursa’s whimpering, Lune’s downcast eyes, and the crack in
Christopher’s voice, the grief is obvious. But they aren’t going to
let it show, not until they have finished what is started.
    Ursa was right; I have to help deliver the
next one, same as the first. This time though, before I hand it
over to the mother wolf, I shake my head and speak to Christopher.
“Its neck is broken; I don’t think its spine was formed right in
the first place.”
    While Christopher buried his head