Lone Wolves by John Smelcer Page B

without her grandfather’s help. As usual, she built a fire to warm the water for their dry food. The wolf sat beside a nearby tree, watching her as she labored to feed the dogs. The dogs paid the wolf no notice, which seemed amazing to her.
    When she was done, Denny spoke to the wolf.
    â€œHello again. We haven’t been properly introduced,” she said in a disarming tone. “My name is Deneena. But most people call me Denny for short.”
    The wolf swiveled his shaggy head.
    â€œYour name is Tazlina. It means swift. I’m gonna call you Taz for short.”
    The wolf licked his lips.
    â€œI know, I know. You’re hungry, aren’t you? Hold your horses. I’m going to try something, and you have to promise to be nice.”
    The wolf blinked and licked his lips again.
    Denny had brought some old moose meat. It was freezer-burned but not spoiled. Before leaving home, she had thawed a roast of it, trimmed the ruined edges, and cut the roast into chunks. She took off her gloves, opened the plastic baggie, and pulled out one piece, holding it up so the wolf could see it.
    Tazlina stood up, his blue eyes riveted on the meat.
    â€œYou want this?” Denny asked, and she tossed the chunk pretty close to the wolf, which gobbled it up. She threw another piece, but not as far, making the wolf take a couple steps forward to retrieve it.
    â€œThat’s a good boy,” she said each time he looked up after eating a piece.
    Denny tossed each succeeding piece so that it fell closer and closer to where she sat. And each time the wolf fetched the meat, she praised him. With every piece closing the gap between them, the wolf became more unsure and nervous, pacing to and fro. But his belly urged him to come ever closer to her, until finally he was so close that Denny held out a piece as far as she could reach, and the wary wolf crept forward and gently took it from her hand and ate it.
    â€œYou’re a very nice wolf,’ she said, taking the last little piece of moose meat from the bag. “I’m afraid this is the last one.”
    Taz cocked his head and licked his lips.
    â€œYou have to earn this one,” she said, as she sat the piece of meat on her knee.
    Tazlina stood for a minute, glancing at the meat and then at her. A squirrel chattered in a nearby tree, and the wolf turned his head sharply. Seeing that it was only a squirrel, he turned his gaze back to the meat lying on Denny’s knee. He took the last step with glacial deliberation. With one eye on her face, he took the piece. With one hand, Denny gently brushed the top of the wolf’s head, her fingers gliding over his black fur and along his grayish ear.
    Tazlina took a quick step back, staring into her eyes, unflinch ing.
    â€œI didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said. “Thank you for not biting me or anything.”
    The wolf walked back to the tree, where he turned in a circle twice, lay down, yawned, and watched as Denny got up to throw some wood on the fire and to pour herself a cup of piping-hot coffee.
    The wolf followed on the way home.

    To Denny, the hardest part of mushing came on arriving home after a long ride on the trail. Cold and tired as she would be, she would always want to go straight into the house to relax, warm up, and get something to eat. But she couldn’t just leave the dogs hitched to the sled outside. Instead, she had to unhook each dog and tie him or her to the appropriate doghouse chain. She had to put away all the rigging, being careful not to tangle it. She had to put away the sled and her survival gear. Most importantly, she had to feed the hungry dogs who had burned all their energy running on the trail.
    It was almost an hour after Delia first heard the dogs outside before Denny walked through the door, her eyelashes thick with frost.
    â€œWe already ate, but I’ll bring you something to eat. Sit down,” said Delia.
    Denny took off her boots and parka and