One spring morning many years ago, I was on southeastern Alaska's Kupreanof Island when I saw a huge wolf caught in a trap. From her appearance, I realized it was a mother wolf and that somewhere hungry pups (小崽) were waiting for her. I guessed she had been trapped only a few days. So her pups were probably still alive, hungry, surely no more than a few miles away. But I thought if I released the wolf, she would tear me to pieces.
So I decided to search for her pups instead. Following some footprints, I finally found four tiny pups. One by one, I placed them in a bag and headed back. When the mother wolf spotted me, she stood up, possibly picking up the smell of her young. I released the pups, and they raced to her.
What next? I wondered. The mother wolf was clearly suffering. Yet each time I moved in her direction, she let out a threatening sound.
I put up a shelter for myself and was soon asleep nearby. At dawn, I was awakened by the four pups sniffing at my face and hands. I glanced toward the anxious mother wolf. If I could only win her confidence, I thought. It was her only hope. Over the next few days, I fed her, talked gently with her and played with the pups. But the big animal never took her eyes off me. When I was beginning to lose hope, at dusk on the fifth day, I saw a wagging (摇摆) of her tail. I moved within the length of her chain. She remained still. My heart in my mouth, I slowly placed my hand on the wolf's injured leg. "OK," I said, "We'll have you out of there." I pressed and the trap sprang open, the wolf pulled free.
Slowly, she headed toward me. She smelled my hands and arms and then began licking (添) my fingers. I was astonished. This went against everything I'd ever heard about wolves. Yet, strangely, it all seemed so natural.
