Waiting for the howling of my wolves

I love wolves. And this, since I was a child.

And it was not that common in France, to love wolves. They are extinct there since nearly a century (despite some effort to get them back in the French Alps and in the Pyrenees- much to the locals dismay). And French culture is full not of respectuous story of the clever wolf, but of terrible tales of hatred and fear from this animal (remember the little red riding hood ? It s French tale from what of our writers, Charles Perrault).

But I have always loved wolves. Despite the threats (my mother "if you don t eat your supper the big wolf will come to you in the night" - me, silently, praying "oh yes, I'd love that !") and the dark fairy tales,

I have always known that the wolf was my companion and my ally.

Here I am. I am probably two. This is in my grand parents house in French. Burgundy, where my parents used to leave me for the hollydays when they took off by themselves for their luxurious travels - my mother was not of a very "motherly nature" and my father probably forgot about half of his life he had inavertendly made a few children with his regular wife -

The big white wolf you see on that picture was one of the last seen and shot in Burgundy, probably at the end of the 19th century. He was a huge and furry animal, and the taxidermist who had fixed him for eternity had spent much time to give him a terrifying grin, probably as a tribute to the "courage" of the hunters who had shot him for far.

And all the kids in the house - my cousins, as well as the neighbors kids - were terrified of this poor animal who was standing near the door of the main living room. They used to tell wild tales about how he could get your leg if you did not run fast enough while going besides him, and how he was awake in the night and wandering in the house to catch the kids if they were not in their beds as instructed by their parents.

Most of the tales having probably been told before by the parents himself, as this was at a time where many French adults found easier to raise theirs kids with terror instead of reason and would say " n importe quoi" (anything) to frighten their kids and get their power back.

I loved that wolf.

And I still remember the feeling of his poor dry fur, and the confort I felt when I was cuddling him. 

He was my guardian, my friend, the magical animal that would only talk to me, and come later to my sleep, in the night, to protect me from all the (other) things I would fear.

And when my mother, who was in the old house of Burgundy from time to time, and hated to be obliged to take care of me, would shout at me during the day  : "if you refuse to obey I will take you to the big wolf"

She had no idea I was simply delighted at the thought, and was in fact waiting happily for the wolf to come see me.

I have been hoping this encounter would really happen in my life one day.

It nearly did.

In Mongolia, in 1996, where I spent nearly three weeks, mostly sleeping under a tent in the steppe with few other French travelers, I heard them. In the far.

The howling of a pack of wolves, echoing in the mountains.

And I felt a mix of fear (we were sleeping in small two persons tents, without even a dog guarding us, and frankly if the wolves had had the idea to taste French food, we would have been easy meat) and of pure, absolute joy.

They were not far. And I was torn by the envy to try myself the howling - answering back to the pack-

And my excellent French education which solemnly reminded me that night that my fellow travelers would probably not appreciate the publicity..

So I stayed silent, on that night when I heard the wolves howling  in the Altaï mountains 

(it s the name of my cat, by the way, Altaï - I really loved theses fierce and wild mountains in the north of Mongolia, where Gengis Khan once settled his capital, and my cat proudly wears this name in remembrance of that night)

And I still regret that missed opportunity to say hello to the pack.

And now ?

I wait. And I pray.

I hope to meet the wolves here, in the US, during my trip with my trailer. 

And to have this time the chance to howl back (no one will know, I am alone in my trailer and my dogs won t tell anyone :-)

I know the Mexican wolf is trying to gain back his right to a territory in New Mexico. I hope to cross his trail. Who knows, maybe my big white wolf will be back there, freed from his old prison in Burgundy, and will recognize my voice.

For he is still coming in my dreams... 

And I am waiting for him.