The Wolf That Wanted To Hunt A Moose

I’m always amazed by how much nature can teach me in certain moments in my life when I am incapable of seeing things clearly for what they really are. Nature makes every situation look so much obvious and yet, I digress into never-ending questions and ambiguous answers. 

The other day I watched a video about this incredible wolf attacking a large and majestic moose. The moose was calmly standing alone at the edge of the lake drinking water. It quickly grew suspicious as if it knew something was lurking behind the trees. A determined wolf was hiding inconspicuously in the woods peering at the moose while waiting for the right moment to attack. The wolf sprung unexpectedly out of the leaves and into the water and surprised the moose with a thousand splashes and a ferocious bite on the animal’s thigh. In return, the moose kicked the wolf so hard that it knocked him out of the way without hesitation. 

The wolf, half drowned and hungry, was relentless, though. It would come back again, jumping through the water and trying to snatch a piece of flesh here and there with no avail. I was at first impressed by the bravery of this lone wolf, but then I quickly realized his efforts were a bit quixotic. He was too involved in his great mission to see his own disadvantage. For him, the moose meant life or death; nothing else mattered. The furry predator tried again and again to hunt the moose and bring it down, but the moose stood confidently without a serious injury. 

It was crushing to see such a great hunter lose for the wrong reasons. The moose was so much bigger than him. It was tall and stood gracefully above the water. The wolf was shorter and seemed to exhaust all of its energy just trying to keep itself afloat between deadly kicks. The moose was certainly alert and ready to fight, but it never lost its composure or looked out of breath like the wolf did.

It was a battle that had an obvious ending, but the wolf didn’t seem to retreat. “I am a great grey wolf. I am a great hunter. I am faster. I am hungrier. This moose is perfect for me. It is exactly what I want and I will win.” That’s what I thought the wolf would be saying to its ego as I watched it lose in this violent match for survival. It wasn’t that the wolf wasn’t brave enough, or strong enough, or fast enough. It was just the wrong time at the wrong place with the wrong prey. Of course, the wolf was magnificent and beautiful, strong and nimble, but to take down a moose of that size, the wolf would’ve needed the help of a pack. Since it was a lone wolf, at least, it should have waited until the moose was out of the water and on land. But the wolf couldn’t help himself; he had no choice. He was hungry. He didn’t know any other way to hunt. There was no time to lose. He needed to continue trying.

After being kicked so many times, the wolf let the lonely moose walk away, taking with it any sense of pride he may have had. He went back into the woods hurting with an empty stomach and kept on striding until the next hunt.

If only I could learn from this wolf and this moose and understand that I’ve been doing things the wrong way—repeatedly—clinging on to the ways I’ve always done things in the past. I have remained only to receive hard kicks that have left me with a bloody face and a thwarted and achy body, just like this hungry wolf. As I see him walk away defeated, I see myself in him, losing again and again. 

If only I could learn from the wolf that wanted to hunt a moose. If only I could let go. If only. 

Boon & The Fish

             Boon, my blue merle Australian Shepherd, has always been skillful at being sneaky. I remember one time I was hosting a New Year’s Eve party at my place. Everyone was spread around the dim-lit townhouse in small chatty circles eating and drinking while music played in the background. I was in the kitchen talking with some friends and holding a shortbread cookie with two fingers up in the air like a music conductor holding her baton; except I was swinging it at the rhythm of my trivial story instead and probably looked like a tipsy director. In the midst of my conversation I didn’t notice a dark shape had emerged from the shadows and managed to camp right next to me, camouflaged in the dimmed lights with two glossy eyes looking straight at me. It had been waiting patiently for the right moment to make its move. 

The dark shape had been silently calculating all of my cookie swings with utmost determination. I paused my hand in midair for a short storytelling recess when suddenly my cookie disappeared; my fingers were empty. The dark shape had come forward. It was Boon, now out of the shadows and in the open, licking his lips after eating my delicious cookie. Boon had stolen it like a sophisticated thief retrieving it very delicately from my fingers with his front tiny teeth like a master pickpocket whom I would have never been able to detect. I wasn’t mad at all, just sincerely in awe by his sneaky abilities. Little did I know that this was just the beginning of many sneaky rebellions. 

             When we moved to our house in a beautiful rural area in west Michigan, we had a large lake-like pond in the backyard that had clear bluish water with many types of fish. We even had a sandy beach that we kept really well-groomed, and it made us feel like we were at a beach in the Caribbean—if only! Right? Oh well, it might not have been the Caribbean, but it was pretty close. With all the sea-like blue lakes in Michigan with their light sandy beaches, it was pretty close for a northern state. You just had to get past the cold water and substitute the palm trees with pine trees and you were in heaven.

It was in this clear-water pond that Boon first got acquainted with fish. Boon would sit on the clear and calm shore and observe how dozens of little fish would swim curiously around him. This was a catch and release pond, so I think the fish were seriously unaware of any threats coming from anyone, including dogs. 

             We probably spent hundreds of hours on that beach enjoying the summer, swimming with the dogs, paddle boarding, and sun bathing. When Boon wasn’t swimming, he would be sitting on the shore with half of his furry body drenched and flustered, with his eyes fixated on the swimming fish. Boon was trying to decide how he would catch them—but he never did. He just ended up with a wet and disappointed muzzle each time he tried. Catching a fish required advanced skills that he hadn’t acquired yet. This wasn’t just an airborne cookie, these were swimming fish—a superior challenge. Still, he tried obsessively. 

Our backyard was beautiful. I could stare at it for hours and never get bored. We could easily spot hawks, owls, blue jays, and cardinals flying over the pond in any given day. Ducks would gather around in flocks paddling on the water and looking for a mate. There were so many different types of ducks that observing them with my binoculars was one of my favorite things to do. Rabbits would come out early in the morning and hop around to see if they could sneak inside my vegetable garden, but I kept it well protected. We even saw snakes and muskrats near the side of the shore that was covered in cattails. 

All this beauty was surrounded by tall pine trees that gave away bursting sherbet sunsets reflected on the rippling water. We would contemplate this breathtaking display from the big window in our family room until the last pink-colored sunray would disappear behind the trees. There are some things in my life that I will never forget, and that view is one of them—Michigan’s sherbet skies over the pond, framed by our window, like a painting. 

            One morning, I was out in the backyard with both of my dogs, enjoying another morning in paradise, checking for any weeds that needed to be pulled out, making sure the beach was groomed, when all of a sudden, I spotted a big hawk on the community beach, about 100 feet away from where I was standing up on our little hill. It was a very large bird with very dark feathers all over his head and body and around its eyes making it look like El Zorro. Later I learned it was an osprey or “fish hawk” with a big white chest and neck and a dark beak. The osprey was stepping on a large fish that it had probably just caught and was getting ready to eat. I was in shock. I felt like I was watching a National Geographic documentary. I had never seen this moment in nature: a large fish trapped in a bird’s claws. As I was watching the hawk kill the fish, I suddenly saw that it opened its large dark wings in reaction to something near him. I was even more impressed at the wide wingspan I could now appreciate with total respect and apprehension. I wondered why the osprey was acting like it was being disturbed. That’s when I saw this dark shape approaching the fish and cautiously retrieving it from the hawk’s claws like a professional pickpocket. At first, I thought this was another animal added to the National Geographic scene, and I was almost excited to witness such an encounter. But when I took a closer look at this moving shadow, I saw that it was Boon sneaking in to steal the fish! 

            I guess if he couldn’t catch the fish in the water, he would try to steal one from a bird. “Is this really happening?!” I thought to myself. He had left my side while I was distracted observing the wild animal scene and decided to join the play Boon & The Fish, personifying the thief character—a role he was most certainly prepared to play. My heart stopped. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The bird was as big as Boon, and Boon is a big dog! It could kill Boon or hurt him with its beak! Especially if Boon was stealing its food! I didn’t know what to do. The first thing that came out of my mouth were ridiculous and high-pitched screams, nervous shrieks that called out Boon’s name and echoed across the pond, through the tall pine trees, and up to the cloudy skies and asked him to COME.HERE.RIGHT.NOW!

In the midst of this upheaval, the osprey flew away. I’m not sure if it was intimidated by the fish thief’s talents or by my annoying screams. Either way, Boon was back by my side, without the fish, thank goodness, but feeling elated like he had a newfound sense of bravery and willful adventure. Meanwhile, I was feeling guilty for the hawk whose breakfast was ruined. I waited to see if the bird would come back to grab its meal, but it didn’t. I kept waiting and thinking the fish was dead, but all of a sudden, I could see the big fish flipping over on the sandy beach. It was alive! The fish was trying to move closer to the water to save its own life—an unbearable thing to watch. 

My conservationist instincts got ahold of me at the scene of the dying fish, and I thought the best thing I could do was to save it. But it was a big fish, one of those that have never been caught and just kept growing, so I actually needed a shovel if I wanted to do the job right. 

I ran back to the house, let the dogs in, quickly grabbed a shovel and then ran back out to the National Geographic scene through the cattails and snakes and who-knows-what-else-there-was along the 100 feet trail—I ran blindly. The fish was miraculously still alive with only a few bloody scratches. I immediately scooped the fat fish with my heavy shovel and threw it back into the water. The fish immediately swam and disappeared down to the bottom of the pond. Now it was I who felt elated with a newfound sense of bravery and willful adventure. 

            Back in the house, Boon still had a proud upright chest full of conquest and irreverence. How dare he left my side!? The thing I couldn’t understand was how he knew I was looking at the hawk on the other side of the beach. From where we were standing on the hill of our house, it was impossible for him to see the hawk down on the community beach. There were too many cattails covering the view. I sometimes wonder if he is so obsessed with figuring out whatever it is that I’m doing that he thought to follow my eyes. It must have been that or he just wanted to make sure nothing steals my attention away from him—not the cookie, not the hawk. Either way, he certainly figured out how to catch a fish! 

            The osprey did not forget the incident. We were back outside trying to enjoy the rest of our day, and it was flying aggressively over the house and even dipping down over my head! This went on for hours, so I brought the dogs inside and stared worriedly at the angry hawk through the family room window. Poor osprey, I guess I shouldn’t have intervened with nature. Lesson learned. But I’m not sure if Boon learned any lesson, though. I think he would still leave my side again to go steal a fish or even better, a cookie, and keep growing his list of sneaky rebellions. 

I am now cautious with any type of food I’m holding in my fingers or any type of object that has gotten all of my attention that is accessible to Boon, the sneaky dog, because he will figure out a way to steal it—my laptop, my pen, my cell phone, my books—just to get my attention and sweep me off my feet with his clever love and inventiveness. 

About The Furry Loved Ones

A couple of years ago, I had a mixed-breed poodle with a white shiny coat and soft wavy curls. She had a short muzzle, light-colored brown eyes and a pink nose. I named her Sonrisa, which means smile in Spanish. I was so right about giving her that name. Sonrisa had her tricks to win the hearts of everyone, especially the ones who didn’t like dogs. She would stare at people with her human-like eyes and look into their souls. Nobody could resist her persistence and devotion.

Her light brown eyes were very expressive and full of compassion. I seriously believe she could connect with people’s minds and talk about the things that they needed to spill out the most, until they felt warm and, inevitably, would smile. She was loved by all my friends and family. Sonrisa was my favorite thing in the world. 

When she was a puppy, she learned how to hold herself up on my shoulder, very still, so I could take her anywhere with me and use my two arms freely to talk to people or run errands. Some people wouldn’t even notice her. Sonrisa loved it. We went everywhere together: to the parks, to the beach, she even traveled with me to Spain when I studied abroad. I just couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her behind, alone, without her mommy. So, Sonrisa became a world traveler and a connoisseur of different cultures. 

I loved how she could fit perfectly in my arms, and I could carry her like a baby, even though she wasn’t. I could walk with her without a leash, and she would always stay by my side. She was so loyal and faithful. We were inseparable for fourteen years, and we grew up together. During her most senior years, life became very difficult for both of us. She was so uncomfortable from her aches and pains, and I had no life of my own. I cared for her day and night for many years.

It was during her last months that I met my other half, Ryan. He had a herding dog called Boon. Boon was a large blue merle Australian Shepherd that was really pushing for me to become his dog mommy. He had dark expressive eyes, floppy ears, and his fur was covered in grey and black spots. He had a big white chest and a tan muzzle, eyebrows, and paws. At first sight, he seemed intimidating, but then you could see the mix of great kindness and royal looks. 

As expected, he didn’t get along with Sonrisa. Boon was a stubborn dog, and he was determined to show her he would be my dog one day. He wanted to be by my side at all times, like he knew I needed a guardian. Lucky for Boon, Ryan and I also wanted to be together. I was so fortunate. I had found love in a new partner and in his loving dog at the same time. But, my happiness was severely interrupted.

When Sonrisa lost all of her strength, it became time for me to take her to the vet and to say goodbye to “mi nina, mi vida, mi angel” my baby girl, my life, my angel. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, to have her in my arms and feel how her life drifted away from her small and fragile body that had accompanied me for fourteen years. As she left I thought I had lost a part of my body or my soul. I felt completely lost after she died. 

Wherever I would go, dogs would come up to me, so I could pet them. It was as if they knew I had been a great dog mommy, and they wanted to let me know. I had never lost a pet before. It was my first time experiencing that, and it hurt so deeply; I wasn’t sure I was going to survive the pain. 

Although happiness was right in front of me with Ryan and Boon now in my life, I was fragile, to say the least. I sincerely was so used to my routine with Sonrisa that without it I didn’t know what to do with my time or with my life. I didn’t even know who I was without her. I didn’t feel like enjoying my new life without her in it. 

Ryan lived four hours away, and we visited each other during the weekends, but when Sonrisa passed away, he knew I was going to be all alone and sad. So, he decided to leave Boon with me. This way Boon could keep me company during this difficult time. Ryan was simply incredible, and Boon was so excited. he acted like all of his dreams had come true. Boon came from a strong family of working dogs, so it became his job to herd me into the light and out of my sadness.

Boon would take care of me in the most unbelievable ways. For instance, he would interrupt my sobbing in the shower by pushing his muzzle through the shower curtain, so that he could show me his big, sweet, dark eyes. I simply couldn’t resist. I had to stop crying and finish showering. He would wake me up in the mornings and get me out of bed with soft pushes that were very successful. He would force me to play outside and see the sun by making me chase him around with the towel in his mouth that I needed so I could dry his dirty paws. It was all a trick to get me running.

Sometimes Boon would sneak in the car to run errands with me. I guess I didn’t have the heart to leave him in the house, so off we went. When I would come back to the car, he would be sitting in the driver’s seat, upright and still, as if he was ready to drive, so I could take a break and rest my feet. He would constantly interrupt my moments of deep sadness by spreading his body upside down over my feet. He would show me his beautiful white belly fur and look me straight in the eyes with an inverted smile to make sure I was paying attention to his funny looks. He was so goofy, and I just couldn’t keep a straight face. 

It was so much easier for me to heal from the loss of Sonrisa with Boon around. He brought boundless joy into my life and became my rock, just as Ryan did. I remember this period of time in my life like a strange dream where I was experiencing immense new love and immense loss at the same time. I consoled myself by thinking I was moving on to a new stage in my life where Sonrisa couldn’t follow me any longer and so our adventure had to come to an end. 

After a lot of Boon therapy, I knew that dogs would always be part of my life, again and again, serving a specific purpose and helping me go through my life’s journey. Even though I missed Sonrisa terribly, with time, I thought of her with less pain and more joy. If there was a dogs’ heaven, I bet she would be watching over me happy to see me surrounded by so much love. 

Boon became my furry loved one. Later on, when I was ready, Ryan and I decided to get another dog. Her name was Luna. She was also an Australian Shepherd, but she was red and white with a pink nose like Sonrisa. She was the most beautiful puppy I had ever seen in my entire life. Her eyes were the color of the deep sea with a mix of blues and greens wrapped around almond-shaped eyes, so bright and innocent, they instantly melted the hearts of everyone that crossed her path.

Luna was the sweetest thing you could ever encounter with a brush of white hair between her eyes, chest, and paws. Full of joy and zest, she would roll around the floor, the grass, and the beach like a furry red ball, because she knew she was the cutest thing ever and you would have to look at her and melt. She was so beautiful. I could never tell if she was real or a creation of my imagination. When we introduced her to Boon she fell in love at first sight and has never left his side ever since. 

Today, Ryan and I are married and live together with our small family of two furry loved ones. Boon and Luna have followed us through many adventures: exploring deep forests, crossing blue lakes on paddle boards, driving across the country through mountains and deserts, and catching tennis balls and frisbees up in the air. Ryan and I are experts in the art of vacuuming, gathering bags of shedding hair, washing and combing dirty dogs, going to the ER, cleaning up after them, training them, wrapping multiple Christmas dog toys, hiding pills in peanut butter, cuddling in the mornings, and waking them up softly when they are dreaming out loud. 

Luna has grown and now she has light honey colored eyes and perky ears. She is very loving and everyone wants to pet her when they see her sweet personality giving kisses away as she walks by. Although she cuddles between us at night like a little baby, she is very athletic and fearless outdoors. When she wants something, she moans and grunts and does it in a very vocal and strategic way. I always fall for it.

Luna still thinks Boon is the most amazing thing she has ever seen in her entire life, and she is completely right about that. She wants to play with him and be next to him at all times. Boon is older now, and he is not that much interested in constantly playing like Luna is, but he loves all of us dearly. He lets Luna kiss his eyes with tiny licks every morning or sit on top of him like a queen on a lavish rug. He gently lays his big head on Ryan’s lap whenever he gets a chance. He’s always on the lookout for strange noises or chasing birds that want to hang out in our yard.

Boon always stands proudly after each job we give him, so protective and adorable. And of course, he still stays right by my side when I’m walking, sleeping, talking, eating, exercising, laughing, cleaning, dressing-up, cooking, gardening, yawning, reading, thinking, and writing. I guess he just wants to make sure I’m okay at all times and likes to take care of me in his own little obsessive, but cute way. Maybe Boon is just still obeying Ryan’s order of making sure I don’t get sad.  

The next time I say goodbye to one of my furry loved ones, I will be more prepared, knowing how much love they bring into my life, how much brighter they make my days, how much love we give to each other, and how it will happen again and again.