How to Keep a Human, as told by Amaruq

As we enter the True Woods....

Amaruq wants you to know that he didn’t make up these stories. They really happened.

True, I played a certain role during the murine invasion, and knew a little of that scary business in Amaruq’s puppyhood. I also admit to almost falling for Dr. Ed’s ploy, as well as to getting lost in the woods—Amaruq really did save me from a fate worse than death on those occasions. Crucial details, however, remained a wolfish secret until, one dark and stormy night, Amaruq returned to dictate these stories. 

Amaruq may not see eye to whisker with me on all issues in our writing process, but his mind’s a Conibear trap. Not a detail escapes his formidable memory, and clearly he has the human ape—people—pretty well figured out. 

For decades, I’ve shared a den with wolf-hybrids. They have better manners, speak more discreetly, and smell better than any dog. Fortunately, they’re not quite wolves—imagine having to provide them with twenty square miles of hunting preserve! Yet wolfhybrids are not dogs, either. You don’t “have a wolfdog”—they have you. Although less biddable and dependent than dogs, they show unparalleled loyalty and love to those of us lucky enough to qualify as members of their pack. Hopeless as guard dogs, they make angelic babysitters. Some have performed astounding feats to rescue their humans from danger. Their intelligence is legendary, but it never becomes the servant of humanity, remaining forever dedicated to serving Silva, goddess of the True Woods and guardian of the commonwealth of Earth. 

Doubtless wolf-hybrids know more about us apes than we know about them. Amaruq had more than a few surprises for me in the telling of these tales.

After decades with the Deep Furs, as writer Lois Crisler endearingly called her wolves, I’m hooked for good. Life without a wolfish pal is unimaginably bleak. Sadly, humans live much longer than wolf-huskies. I may have time for a few more Deep Furs, but I’ll be a very lucky ape if I ever again meet anyone to equal Amaruq, Prince of the True Woods. 

Amaruq was quite right to insist on moving North of Sixty. From the moment we stepped out into that clear Yukon air, we both were home. We led a fabulous life until his death in Dawson City, murdered by a jealous woman—but that’s another story.

Many cried to hear Amaruq was gone. His great heart and magnificence had often erased the species barrier. A splendid being had left this plane. 

“He was the best guy you ever had,” my mother pronounced, having found my roster of potential and actual ape-mates wanting. “Certainly,” she added, “the best looking.”

“He’s a man’s dog,” insisted my mate, proud that, in his royal wolfy way, Amaruq would sometimes choose to accompany him. When it came to seeing me through the losses every human suffers, however, Amaruq was very much a woman’s dog, more caring and solicitous than any human nurse.

“I wish I’d met him,” sighs my wild-souled daughter, staring at a photograph of Amaruq and me in the True Woods.

“You are meeting him. The Son of Bitch won’t leave me alone until I tell these stories, just for you, Puppy.” It’s a mock complaint. Truth to tell, I hope Amaruq never stops coming back.

“I hope there are lots of stories, Mom.”

Is he really gone? I hear myself calling his name at the sight of a certain lift of a brushy tail, a message in a set of intelligent ears, a wicked canine grin. In dreams we run together in the soft Yukon woods, still tussling, laughing, nuzzling, talking.

Alive, Amaruq put the color into the canvas of my life. His was the touch that connected me with all other living beings. His wild scent, like a pine forest in winter, reminded me of what the True Woods should mean to my species, dull-nosed, tunnelvisioned, ego-bound humanity. Now, as his greatest accomplishment, he’s made me into a ghost writer for the generations of crossed species to come.

Who but a mutt, after all, could tutor us back to nature and our truest selves?