Firstborn (9 page)

The pup turned and fixed his eyes on him. “You have a thing on your neck like Mother,” he said.

“A collar,” Frick said.

“What are those little things?”

“Flies,” Frick said, giving his nub of a tail a swish.

“What's this tickly stuff?”

“Grass,” Frick said.

As Lamar bombarded Frick with questions, Alberta enlisted Blue Boy in helping name the other newcomers. They called the girl Libby and the boy Ben. Out of tact for Hope they even named the runt: Rider. Ben and Libby started sparring, as wolf pups are meant to do, and small as he was, Rider joined in. Lamar kept on grilling Frick about the novelties around him, oblivious to his father's narrowing eyes.

“What's the thing I hit?”

“A tree,” Frick said. “A quaking aspen, to be precise.”

“What are those things in the quaking aspen?”

“Budding leaves, mostly. The black-and-white thing's a bird.”

“A bird,” Lamar said, looking suitably impressed.

“She's a friend of ours, a magpie,” Frick said. “Her name's Maggie.”

Lamar's upturned eyes were an adorable baby blue. His body was mostly his mother's gray, but his face was an expressive mix of gray, brown, white, and black. As I was about to welcome him to the world, Rider let out a squeal.

Ben had cuffed the runt and sent him flying. Lamar raced over, helped the runt to his feet, and turned on his other brother, his tail shooting up. Ben's wilted.

“That's more like it,” Blue Boy said under his breath.

The wolves spent the day playing with the pups. Watching the pups frolic, I noticed that none of them had any of their father's blue in their coats, but this didn't keep Blue Boy from beaming at them. Not even Lupa or Raze could resist them. By late afternoon the endearing little things were falling asleep on their feet, and Alberta herded them into the den.

Next morning I went off with the hunters, but after a few quick pecks of that day's kill I zoomed back to the den site. I made it in time for the pups' second appearance. Today Rider came out under his own steam, peering around hungrily. Alberta must have begun weaning them, for the other three pups came out looking hungry too. Frick had slept in as usual but woke up when Lamar started nuzzling his belly in search of a nipple.

“That's a dead end, I'm afraid,” Frick said.

Lamar looked disappointed, but before long the hunting party returned, and Lamar and the other pups raced up to them and poked the corners of the adults' mouths with their snouts. It must have been wolfish instinct. The hunters regurgitated pre-chewed food onto the ground, and the pups dug in.

“What is this?” Lamar cried after gulping down a mouthful.

“Elk,” said Blue Boy.

“It's the best thing I ever tasted.”

“Out of your vast culinary experience,” Frick murmured.

Libby and Ben kept shouldering Rider away from the food, but when the feeding frenzy was over, Lamar spat some up for the runt. I don't think Blue Boy approved of this—pups are supposed to grab all the nourishment they can—but he didn't interfere.

“Is elk over there?” Lamar asked, staring off toward the valley.

“Don't you worry about where it comes from,” Blue Boy said. “Just have fun.”

By “fun” he meant sparring. This was early training for the hunt. Lamar sparred with his brothers and sister for a while, but in time he got bored and tottered over to Frick.

“What are those tall things?” he asked, looking up the hill.

“Lodgepole pines,” Frick said.

“What are the big creatures way over there with the spiky green fur?”

“Those are called mountains.”

Lamar immediately headed toward the mountains, but his parents growled. Pups aren't supposed to venture far from the den. Lamar had to content himself with asking about things.

And ask he did. Ask, ask, ask. But at least he didn't repeat the same questions over and over. Once he got an answer, he moved on. And it didn't take him long to figure out who not to bother. He picked up on his father's disapproval of his questions, and Raze's annoyance, and Lupa's disinterest. He zeroed in on Frick—and me.

The height of the lodgepole pines amazed him, as did the sudden pageant of wildflowers. The sky amazed him too. One day it was the blue of his father's fur, the next it was the lustrous gray of Lupa's, the next it seemed to be full of the puffy white things, and the next it spat at us.

“Look, the birds can go up into it!” Lamar cried one morning.

“Those are just chipping sparrows,” I told him.

I showed him what real flying looks like. When I landed back in the aspen, he was jumping up and down, trying to fly himself—a pitiable sight indeed. Not wanting to rub his nose in the natural superiority of birds, I pointed out that we couldn't howl.

“What's ‘howl'?” he said.

He soon found out. One night in the wake of a hearty elk feast Blue Boy, Hope, Raze, and Lupa were keeping me up with their howling when Lamar's head poked out of the den. His little ears cupped at the sound of answering howls in the distance. I think this was his first inkling that they weren't the only wolves in the world. As he inched outside, he said in an awed voice:

“Look at the big yellow wolf eye!”

I think I was the only one who heard him. I was about to tell him it was called the moon when there was a different howl from far away, higher and more musical than the rest.

“What kind of wolf is that?” he asked.

At this the grown-ups noticed him.

“Why aren't you in bed?” Blue Boy said gruffly.

Lamar ducked back inside.

When Lamar and the other pups came out in the morning, it was sunless and cold. Blue Boy had gone off to patrol his territory, as he did periodically, but the rest of the hunting party was lolling around with Frick, bellies still full. Since Frick had slept through last night's concert, Lamar turned to Hope for information about the interesting howl.

“That was a coyote,” she said.

“What's a coyote?”

“Scum,” said Raze.

“What's scum?” Lamar said.

“Coyotes are something like wolves,” Hope said, “only smaller.”

“Especially their brains,” Raze said.

“This from our resident intellect,” Frick said.

Just as Raze was narrowing his eyes at Frick, Blue Boy returned. He stood a ways off, his tail straight up. Alberta went and kissed him under the chin. Lupa did the same, and Frick too, and even Raze. The pups quit sparring and followed the example of the adults, Blue Boy lowering himself a bit so they could reach. Lamar gave a shrug and for the first time followed the example of the others. Blue Boy let out a happy croon.

Later that day it snowed.

“What is this?” Lamar cried, dashing around in every direction.

“Snow in June,” Raze grumbled.

“Can you fly in it?” Lamar asked me.

I flew off across the creek and circled back to my aspen. I think seeing me disappear into the snow gave Lamar an idea. He went to roughhouse with the other pups, and when Libby landed a clout on his snout, he pretended it was more powerful than it was and rolled off down the hill, figuring he could vanish into the snow as well and go exploring. He passed the big boulder by the creek and made his way along the water's edge. An interesting creature was nosing around on the opposite bank, a creature even smaller than he was, and when Lamar came to the log spanning the creek, he started across. But the log was icy, and he slipped.

Slough Creek is shockingly cold. I've rinsed my feathers in it. Lamar thrashed and gasped for air. I squawked for Blue Boy, who dashed down and yanked Lamar out by the scruff of the neck. Lamar coughed up some water and rasped a thank-you.

Blue Boy fixed him with a stern stare. “Just where did you think you were going?”

“I saw a coyote on the other side,” Lamar said.

Blue Boy looked across the creek, and his expression softened. “That chipmunk, you mean? I applaud your hunting instincts, Lamar, but you're too young to leave the den site.”

“I didn't want to hunt it. I wanted to hear that nice song again.”

Blue Boy's expression hardened again. “One of my sisters drowned in a creek like this when she was your age.”

“You have sisters, Father?”

“I had three—but none of them made it.”

“What happened to them?”

“They died.”

“Died,” Lamar said. “Why don't you wear a collar like Mother and Frick and Raze and Lupa?”

“I lost mine.”

“How'd you lose it?”

“You ask too many questions, Lamar. At this point there's really just one thing you need to know. That the world's a perilous place.”

“The world's a perilous place,” Lamar repeated.

“And don't let Libby smack you around like that.”

Lamar nodded, not mentioning that his tumble had been staged.

“You're the firstborn,” Blue Boy continued. “You have to assert your dominance.”

“What's ‘assert your dominance'?”

His father sighed.

AS THE PUPS GREW,
Lamar's size advantage increased. He was fascinated by every new flower that popped up, every new bird or insect that flew by, but he restrained his impulse to explore and even swallowed some of his questions, especially within earshot of his father. He did his best to “assert his dominance,” too. The hunters began bringing back elk bones and hunks of real meat instead of pre-chewed fare, and Lamar would make a point of grabbing the biggest chunk. He spent more time sparring with his siblings, returning their swats with harder ones, and winning games of tug-of-war they played with sticks and bones. Strangely enough, the bossier he acted, the more devoted they became to him. All he had to do was press his ears forward and lift his tail for them to roll over and show their white bellies in surrender. But he wasn't despotic. The only thing he seemed to insist on was that Ben and Libby leave some food for Rider.

One day at dusk, just when it looked as if Rider might actually make it, a swallow swooped so close to the little fellow's snout that he went chasing after it. In a flash a short-eared owl dove out of the sky and grabbed him. Blue Boy raced after the owl and made a desperate leap, but he came up short. For a moment I was too stunned to move, then I shot after the beast myself. Magpies are smaller than owls, so my best hope was to harrass him into dropping the poor pup dangling from his talons. But he'd gotten the wind under his wings, and, fast as we magpies are, I couldn't catch up.

Finally, I circled sadly back to my aspen. Down below, Lamar was frantic. “What happened?” he cried.

“A hawk grabbed him,” said Raze.

Catching my breath, I pointed out that it had been an owl.

“Hawk,” said Raze. “Owls only hunt at night.”

Blue Boy said something, but it was inaudible over Alberta's heartrending wail.

“What?” Lamar said.

“Maggie's right,” Blue Boy said grimly. “It was an owl.”

“Will the owl bring Rider back, Father?” Lamar asked.

Raze snorted. “When buffalos fly,” he said.

Lamar, who didn't know what a buffalo was, looked up at me with his big blue eyes. “I hope that's soon!” he said. “Is the owl a friend of yours?”

“Heavens, no,” I said.

“But Rider can't just be gone.”

“Your fraternal feelings do you credit,” I said, “but I'm—”

“What's ‘fraternal'?”

“Brotherly.”

“Inside!” Alberta cried.

As she herded Ben and Libby into the den, Lamar slipped off to the northeast, the direction the owl had gone. Blue Boy promptly brought him back by the scruff of his neck and shoved him into the den. Lamar popped right out.

“Rider always curls up next to me at night,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” Blue Boy said, with unusual gentleness. “I've lost brothers myself. But do you remember what I told you?”