Part 2
“No. Died overnight.”
Jack released the button. Beside the stove, the animal he had just reported dead raised his head at the sound of his voice. The dispatcher acknowledged the report and moved on to the next station, leaving Jack with a handset that suddenly seemed too large for its cradle.
He set it down carefully. Thirty years of morning reports, and he had never needed to remember what he’d said before answering the next question. Now there was a dead wolf in the district log and a living one on June’s blanket.
He crouched beside her. “Just us, then.”
She sniffed his sleeve and turned back to Ash. It was a practical dismissal, and for the moment he was grateful. There was water to replace, wet bedding to lift, a stove to keep from burning too hot. He could do those things without deciding how long this could continue.
During the first three days, Ash slept through most of the daylight. When he woke, he drank a little and took the small portions Jack set within reach. His feet hurt; he would put weight on them, reconsider, and lower himself beside June with an irritated breath. Jack cleaned what he could see and watched for swelling, knowing that any deterioration would end his attempt to manage this alone.
June permitted him to change the bedding. Touching Ash was another matter. On the second evening, Jack reached across her to examine a front foot, and a low growl stopped his hand halfway there.
“I need to look.”
He moved around where she could see him, waited, then offered the back of his hand. She sniffed it before lowering her muzzle. Ash pulled the foot away once, but when Jack waited instead of holding it, he set it down again.
“All right,” Jack murmured. “Your way.”
He had spent months coaxing June to finish a bowl. Now she carried pieces of food to the blanket, setting them beside the pup and standing over them until he moved. Once, Jack found a damp strip tucked beneath the edge of her bed. He removed it while she was drinking, and she searched the empty fold with such concentration that he felt like a thief.
At night she woke whenever Ash shifted. She checked his face, circled, settled around him again. Jack began waking with her, listening first and reaching for the lamp only if the sounds changed. He learned the little scrape that meant Ash was trying to turn and the breath June let out when he finally found a comfortable place.
There were good hours and discouraging ones. One morning Ash ate and watched the window; that afternoon he scarcely raised his head. Jack kept the truck key on the table, despite the drifted road, and stopped pretending that having opened the door meant the youngster was safe.
On the fifth day, Ash crossed the floor.
He began with his front feet spread, testing the boards. June stood alongside him without touching until his hindquarters swayed; then he leaned into her shoulder and recovered. Jack stayed in his chair. The water bowl was eight feet away, and he had the absurd feeling that moving it closer now would spoil something important.
Ash reached it. He drank, looked around as if surprised by the new view, and made his way back. June kept pace with him, her tail moving slowly.
Jack realized his cheeks hurt. He had been smiling for the whole trip.
That evening he washed the last of the rescue towels and hung them over chair backs. Ellen had hated that arrangement because there was nowhere to sit. He almost heard her telling him to use the drying rack, and for once the remembered voice stayed with him after the ache it brought.
In the hospital, he had tried to answer her request with plans. He would finish the trail survey. He would get the cabin roof fixed. She had tightened her fingers around his and waited until he stopped listing work.
“And after you do all that?” she had asked.
He had never found an answer she believed. Now a wolf was pulling at the corner of a towel, and June was watching from the floor, bright-eyed and interested in the result. Jack freed the cloth gently and moved it higher.
“That’s clean,” he told Ash. “You can ruin something else.”
On the seventh afternoon, Cal Bennett called. The district supervisor asked about fuel, trail damage, whether the lower road was passable yet. Jack answered while chopping meat at the counter, laying the knife down when Cal changed the subject.
“Pete mentioned that pup. You sure it was gone?”
Ash slept with his muzzle across June’s feet. Jack looked at the knife, at the small wet mark its blade had left on the wood. He had several seconds in which to say what had happened.
“Sure,” he said.
“All right. We can’t have young wolves learning to hang around the stations. Any sign of the adults?”
“Tracks farther up. Nothing close.”
Cal told him to keep the records current and signed off. Jack stood at the counter until the stove gave a soft metallic knock. Then he put the meat away without finishing his own dinner.
Ash woke as Jack sat down. He crossed to the water bowl, drank, and turned toward him rather than the bed. At Jack’s boot he stopped, sniffing the leather, then raised his torn ear and stretched his nose toward the hand resting on Jack’s knee.
Jack let him decide the remaining distance. The pup touched his fingers, withdrew, and returned with a tentative pressure against his leg. June came over and sat beside them.
“You don’t know much about me,” Jack said.
He rubbed the fur behind the undamaged ear. Ash stood still, then leaned into the touch. Jack could feel the youngster’s weight beginning to come back, a little more resistance beneath the coat each day.
Later, sitting on the floor, he offered a small piece of meat from his fingers. Ash took it and backed away to eat. Jack waited; the pup approached again, more readily this time, and June settled with a satisfied huff against the chair.
When the food was gone, Ash stayed. Jack held his empty hand where the youngster could inspect it, then rested it on his neck. For several minutes he forgot to listen for the radio.
To read the rest of the story – CLICK the NEXT button 👇👇👇