Read Online Lone Wolf A Novel by Jodi Picoult - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jodi Picoult
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part of the wooded area to the den at the far northeast corner of the enclosure. We’d leave the carcass, and only long after we were out of the enclosure would they venture back to eat.
The day I first went in without a ski pole, I was checking the fence—part of the routine of a keeper. But instead of doing my duty and hightailing it out of the enclosure, I decided to sit and stay. Unarmed and uneasy, my blood racing with adrenaline, I sat down on the ridge where I’d seen the wolves settle daily, and I waited.
I was thinking that, like the deer and the moose I’d encountered as a child, these animals might eventually feel comfortable enough with me to go about their business as usual.
I was thinking wrong.
After five days of my sitting in the wolf enclosure, with the other keepers convinced I had a screw loose, not a single animal had approached me.
I have been asked so many times what made me choose this path in life. I think part of it was that animals have always been straight with me, but humans haven’t. But the other part is that I don’t take no for an answer very easily. So instead of giving up and going back to animal care with a ski pole, I thought about what I might be doing wrong.
And then I realized that I might not have a ski pole with me but I still had the advantage. When I’d been a boy, I’d sneak out at dusk and dawn to see the animals—but they made themselves scarce midday. If I wanted to put the wolves at ease, I had to approach them when they had the upper hand. So I went to my boss and asked for permission to stay in the wolf enclosure overnight.
Mind you, once the park closed its gates, at 6:00 P.M. , the keepers all went home. There was a skeleton staff in place overnight, but only for emergencies. My boss told me I could do what I wanted, but I could see from the look on his face he thought he’d be hiring a new keeper after this one died of his injuries.
It’s hard for me to describe what it was like, locking myself inside the enclosure that first time. At the beginning, all that existed was pure panic. The dark had a heartbeat, and I couldn’t see well enough to know where the roots of the trees were sticking up. I could hear the movement of the wolves, but I also knew they had the ability to stalk silently if they were so inclined. I tripped my way to my usual spot—the ridge—and sat down. Unfamiliar sounds from all over the wildlife park pinned me in place. This is what you wanted, I told myself.
I tried to close my eyes and sleep, but I couldn’t relax. Instead, I began counting stars, and before I knew it, the yolk of the sun was breaking on the horizon.
It was great to work with the wolves during the day, but I was really there to keep the people who came to the park from doing stupid things, like throwing them food or leaning too close to the fence. In the nighttime, though, I was alone with these magnificent animals, these kings and queens of the half-light. At the end of their day they weren’t worrying about paying the bills, or what they were going to eat for breakfast, or what to do about the crack in the concrete, man-made pond. All that mattered was that they were together, and that they were safe.
For the next four nights, I locked myself into the wolf pen after the last zookeeper had gone home. And every night, the wolves stayed as far away from me as possible. On the fifth night, just after midnight, I got up and moved from the ridge to the rear of the fenced area. Two of the wolves bounded toward the spot where I’d been sitting. They sniffed the ground and one of them urinated. Then they moved away from the ridge, and spent the rest of their night staring at me with their yellow eyes.
On the sixth night, the wolf we called Arlo approached me. He moved in a slow circle, sniffing, before moving away.
He did the same thing on the seventh and eighth nights, too.
On the ninth night, he sniffed and circled and turned as if he were going to walk away
The day I first went in without a ski pole, I was checking the fence—part of the routine of a keeper. But instead of doing my duty and hightailing it out of the enclosure, I decided to sit and stay. Unarmed and uneasy, my blood racing with adrenaline, I sat down on the ridge where I’d seen the wolves settle daily, and I waited.
I was thinking that, like the deer and the moose I’d encountered as a child, these animals might eventually feel comfortable enough with me to go about their business as usual.
I was thinking wrong.
After five days of my sitting in the wolf enclosure, with the other keepers convinced I had a screw loose, not a single animal had approached me.
I have been asked so many times what made me choose this path in life. I think part of it was that animals have always been straight with me, but humans haven’t. But the other part is that I don’t take no for an answer very easily. So instead of giving up and going back to animal care with a ski pole, I thought about what I might be doing wrong.
And then I realized that I might not have a ski pole with me but I still had the advantage. When I’d been a boy, I’d sneak out at dusk and dawn to see the animals—but they made themselves scarce midday. If I wanted to put the wolves at ease, I had to approach them when they had the upper hand. So I went to my boss and asked for permission to stay in the wolf enclosure overnight.
Mind you, once the park closed its gates, at 6:00 P.M. , the keepers all went home. There was a skeleton staff in place overnight, but only for emergencies. My boss told me I could do what I wanted, but I could see from the look on his face he thought he’d be hiring a new keeper after this one died of his injuries.
It’s hard for me to describe what it was like, locking myself inside the enclosure that first time. At the beginning, all that existed was pure panic. The dark had a heartbeat, and I couldn’t see well enough to know where the roots of the trees were sticking up. I could hear the movement of the wolves, but I also knew they had the ability to stalk silently if they were so inclined. I tripped my way to my usual spot—the ridge—and sat down. Unfamiliar sounds from all over the wildlife park pinned me in place. This is what you wanted, I told myself.
I tried to close my eyes and sleep, but I couldn’t relax. Instead, I began counting stars, and before I knew it, the yolk of the sun was breaking on the horizon.
It was great to work with the wolves during the day, but I was really there to keep the people who came to the park from doing stupid things, like throwing them food or leaning too close to the fence. In the nighttime, though, I was alone with these magnificent animals, these kings and queens of the half-light. At the end of their day they weren’t worrying about paying the bills, or what they were going to eat for breakfast, or what to do about the crack in the concrete, man-made pond. All that mattered was that they were together, and that they were safe.
For the next four nights, I locked myself into the wolf pen after the last zookeeper had gone home. And every night, the wolves stayed as far away from me as possible. On the fifth night, just after midnight, I got up and moved from the ridge to the rear of the fenced area. Two of the wolves bounded toward the spot where I’d been sitting. They sniffed the ground and one of them urinated. Then they moved away from the ridge, and spent the rest of their night staring at me with their yellow eyes.
On the sixth night, the wolf we called Arlo approached me. He moved in a slow circle, sniffing, before moving away.
He did the same thing on the seventh and eighth nights, too.
On the ninth night, he sniffed and circled and turned as if he were going to walk away
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