Azzin
I remember the day, though not the date or month. I remember the snow and the biting frost, and I remember the whimpering sounds he made, all alone and thin. I remember the day I met Azzin.
It was up at my aunt’s house, this breathtaking event. The “Back 40”, as we called it, to be more specific. A far stretch of land, covered in woods and fields. This day I was unusually alone. My usual entourage of Roxy, Jade, Crabbait, Zander, and Tazer was dwindled down to only the latter of the group, who stayed by my side like the loyal German Sheppard he is. Though he strays from my side to burrow into the thicket, I can feel his presence.
The unusual quiet of the forest hit me like a brick. I remember being cold, so I must have wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck, for soon I was overheated again, hiking the seemingly unmanned terrain. Tazer was nowhere to be found, so I assumed he went home. I huddled under a tree, feeling hunger pull at my stomach, and retrieved a sandwich out of my little bag. I only ate half as my lunch was interrupted by a small squealing. I had a flashback to when I found Eve, a rabbit who I saved from the dogs before they could eat her too. I remember following the sound.
I was brought, seemingly by fate, to a hole in the roots of a nearby tree. I peered in, wary of a sudden attack, and saw three masses, small and covered in fur. I reached in and touched the squealing one, who only wailed louder at my touch. I felt bones through thin skin and its paws were cold to the touch. I lifted it in one quick swoop and tucked it into my jacket. The noise instantly stopped, grateful for warmth. At this point I still wasn’t too sure what sort of creature I had just acquired, and hoped it didn’t bite too hard. I reached in for the second, unmoving mass. It was barely breathing, but I put it in my jacket with the other. The lively mass was shivering hopelessly and I felt horrid. I grabbed the third mass only to find it cold and stiff.
I looked at the decaying creature and to my shock found it was a cub. A wolf cub, bigger then a coyote cub, yet so small I could fit in the palms of my hand. I felt the shallow breaths of the unmoving cub and the shivering of the other. I left the dead cub where it lay, not wanting to draw my attention away from the two living cubs huddled in my winter coat.
About halfway between the spot I found them and my fort, the cries started up again. I quickened my pace, heart racing with the adrenalin of finding a creature so wild, like when you catch a snake or almost fall out of a tree. At the fort I opened my bag to expose the sandwich, pulling out bits of meat, mashing it a bit, and then shoving my finger into the hole I created in my jacket. The squeals were instantly replaced by a ferocious sucking, proving it hadn’t been weaned yet. I peeked in and smiled at the cubs. Their eyes were sealed shut, though they should have been open by then. I mashed up some more meat, whether turkey or ham I couldn’t remember, and stuck it by the unmoving pup’s mouth. Its breath quickened a bit, smelling the food, but too weak to eat. So I opened its mouth and placed the almost liquid meat inside. Then I tended to the other, who wanted nothing more than food. I had to stop feeding it though; much to its displeasure, for its stomach was probably unaccustomed to anything but the rich milk of the she-wolf.
I bundled them up and headed for the pure warmth of my aunt’s house. When I arrived Jade was in her bed and I had to hold the curious and overexcited Zander at bay, making sure the Springer spaniel pup wouldn’t crush the cubs. Roxy was too short to do much damage so I didn’t worry about her.
I showed my aunt the cubs, though she was not too pleased. A baby rabbit is one thing, but two wolf cubs are another. She looked over the cubs, using her nursing experience to help, and concluded neither cub would survive. I was positive they would. So I bundled them up in the bed made for me, stripped off my wet clothes, and crawled into bed to keep them warm until I left the next day.
Unfortunately, one pup died sometime through the night. She was the one I named Remi. The other was male, though I couldn’t think of a name. We buried Remi in the small field behind my Aunt Jessie’s house, under the snow and frozen dirt. The surviving cub looked a bit livelier, having tasted a meal, not at all mournful for his sister’s death.
The day his sister died, I gave him his name; Azzin. I never let him out of my sight. For some miracle, my family let me keep him, making him stay in my room till he was old enough to stay outside.
In three days time his eyes opened, revealing a stunning crystal blue. This both delighted me and frightened me for the possibility of him being deaf. After a few coos though I concluded he could hear just fine. He’d chew on my fingers, and I’d feed him powdered formula out of a bottle. Eventually though, baby fat returned, I weaned him to mixtures of meat and dog food. He didn’t like it as much as the formula, but in time his stomach bulged and he was wandering off on his own.
As the days passed, turned into weeks, then months, Azzin grew both in size and in attachment to me, preferring me to anyone else. I did not teach him to sit or roll over, for those are things wolves simply don’t do. Instead I taught him to howl and be submissive to me. I taught him to run and to play.
Never did his tail wag when he was pleased, nor was it ever raised above his back when around me. His tongue never lolled about in the usual dog way. He just stayed in the shadows, my silent guardian.
He couldn’t bark, but we’d howl to the moon. He never outgrew my bed either; even when he neared 200 pounds, I always had room for him. And throughout his days, I loved him, my Azzin, my partner, my friend…