Raising Wolves

This journey began when my husband asked me to go get his jacket from the car. Just as I put my hand on the car door, I saw a small white mound of something lying on his jacket in the passenger seat. In wonderment, I realized that mound was a white Artic wolf pup. That day began a love affair with a white ghost of the Artic. That same day began our education of what it's like to live with an extremely intelligent, affectionate, and energetic Canis lupus arctos. I found the acceptance and warmth I craved from animals, unsuccessfully trying to adopt every stray that came along. Miyaca got into their third fight in two days, snarling and slashing at each other with bared fangs. They produced no blood. I lost Mani today; the worst day I've spent. Maybe an ad will get her back; I pray and pray. I feel low, real low. Wolf haters didn't bother to disguise their feelings; usually, they were men. Never overt in their dislike, they made it clear with stony expressions and unblinking stares. I gave as good as I got. One time we took Miyaca to Yellowstone National Park, stopping to take pictures of a mother moose and her baby. We watched from the motorhome as people crowded around the moose, cameras clicking. Someone shouted, "There's a wolf." Everyone turned and started taking pictures of Miyaca the White Artic Wolf. Many questions were asked about the wolf, and we answered all questions.