Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, December 7, 1993 TAG: 9312070250
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: CATHRYN McCUE STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Squeaky was a huge black dog who showed up at my house in Bedford County a couple of weeks ago and wouldn't leave. For two days I ignored him, hoping he'd go away.
But he was stubborn. And he loved my two Australian Shepherds like they were long-lost cousins. I'd come home from work to find him by the dog pen, waiting for me to free my dogs so they could wrestle and romp and explore the fields and woods.
He had no collar, and no one responded to the fliers I put up in the community. So I started feeding him. But I could not - would not, I vowed - keep him.
From the start, I sensed something different about Squeaky. He much preferred the company of canines to humans and instantly formed a three-dog pack with my guys. He never barked, but he made squeaking noises in his throat. Sometimes at night, when I brought my dogs inside, I heard him howling at the door - a woeful, bone-chilling sound in the dark.
He was wary of me at first. He would watch my dogs interact with me and mimic them. It took several days before he would trust me to scratch him behind the ears.
Squeaky looked different, too. He stood three feet tall, with thick, solid-black fur. He was long and lean, with a bushy tail, slender legs that moved with a sort of clumsy grace, a large head and pointed ears as big as my hand.
And those eyes - amber like tiger's eye stones - set wide apart. Not like a dog's eyes, where an owner can see love and affection. In Squeaky's eyes was a longing to be with his kind.
Squeaky was part wolf. Probably a lot wolf.
No name was majestic enough for this beautiful beast, so I simply called him Squeaky.
A couple of people expressed interest in taking him, but I found myself screening them. Did they have other dogs, because Squeaky needed companions. Did they have room for him to run? Had they ever owned dogs before - because this was no ordinary canine.
I should have just been glad to find a home for him. But my responsibility had taken on a larger dimension.
I talked to several people around the state who breed or own wolfdogs, and they can't praise these animals enough.
They're gentle, smart, and eminently trustworthy around children. They're misunderstood and unfairly feared by people. One woman told me there has never been a documented case of a wolf - a pure wolf - attacking a human in North America, and a U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service man confirmed it.
They're independent, however, and have a reputation as escape artists. That, I do not doubt. About a week after Squeaky arrived, I coaxed him into my car with dog biscuits and took him to a nearby convenience store. The owner has an acre fenced in and offered to keep him temporarily.
After chowing down a big bowl of food, Squeaky escaped from the man's shed and high-tailed it back to my house - five miles away - in one hour.
This was no ordinary dog.
There was a wild animal trapped inside the body of a domestic dog, trapped by our fascination with Canis lupus. Yet, the genes of "man's best friend," perhaps a German shepherd, were trapped by the wilder genes of his wolf half, preventing him from being wholly accepted by society or comfortable as a family pet. I'm told that some vets and animal shelters euthanize suspected wolfdogs.
Squeaky was caught between two worlds, a link between civilization and wilderness, belonging to neither.
I thought he surely would be killed by gun or by car if he followed his wild spirit. But he would probably escape, or wane from confinement and loneliness, if forced to live as a pet.
Finally I decided I would get a vet to put Squeaky to sleep, if I couldn't find a home for him. But fate beat me to it.
Monday morning, a county dog warden shot and killed Squeaky after he attacked and mauled two calves on a neighboring farm.
I have mixed feelings about this business of mixing wild and tame species.
I touched something wild, an unfathomable mystery of nature. And it touched me back. How special I felt, how humbled, when Squeaky deigned to lick my chin, or nuzzle my hand, like he was letting me be part of his ancient pack.
I think that's part of the fascination for humans who breed and own wolfdogs. And there's the argument that dogs and wolves have mixed it up on their own ever since the homesteaders pushed westward.
What troubles me is a nagging feeling that interfering with the natural order of things isn't right. It's not nice to fool Mother Nature, and all that.
Must we conquer and co-opt every inch of the planet, every animal that walks or crawls, to achieve our own needs and desires? Just because we are cogent beings doesn't mean we always use reason.
Things wild, like wolves, deserve our respect. And they deserve the right to follow their own course - biologically or divinely driven, it matters not.
Cathryn McCue is a staff writer covering environmental issues.
by CNB