Summer of the Wolves by Polly Carlson-Voiles

how to tuck the little wolf under her T-shirt and her anorak so the pup could snuggle against her. He tied the sleeves of her flannel shirt like a belt around the bottom of the anorak, to keep the pup from slipping out. “The little pouch will do the trick,” he said, surveying their work.
    Like a mama kangaroo,
Nika thought. Unbelievable. The scratchy warmth and the cold nose bumping her bare belly was one of the best feelings she had ever experienced. As she cradled the shivering bulge with her hands, it quieted.
    Nika moved with new purpose now. It was strange how alive she felt with this woolly bundle against her. Something flowed between her and the pup as it swayed with her motion. She fell into the rhythm of Ian’s footsteps. Stepping over logs and around rocks, her feet began to feel more agile and certain as they retraced their trail to the beach.
    When they reached the beach and were waiting for Maki, Nika asked, “Who would do this?”
    â€œThere’s a guy from Red Pine who’s been known to sell pups illegally. People buy them as pets. He breeds wolves with dogs, too. He once bred foxes for fur, but they all died. It could be him. The authorities shut him down from time to time, but he always gets more animals. He’s got problems, hates the government, rants and raves at people on the street.” Ian passed a water bottle to Nika. She shifted one hand under the pup, using the other to tip the bottle for a long drink.
    â€œWhat about the other pups?” she asked.
    â€œI’m sure he wouldn’t keep them long. Wouldn’t want someone to trace the pups to him. He’s been in jail before.”
    â€œWhat about the male? The dad wolf? I thought you said mates stayed together.”
    â€œHe could have been shot, too. Since he wasn’t collared, we’ll never know.”
    Nika glanced down at the lump under her shirt. “How old is he?”
    â€œI’d say less than two weeks. The eyes usually open at about twelve to fourteen days, and his aren’t open yet. Which is perfect, really, because we have him before he starts a stage called fear avoidance, something that will happen about the time he opens his eyes. They use their senses, mostly their sense of smell, to recognize the members of their pack. They call it bonding. In humans, it’s bonding when a newborn baby attaches to his mom.”
    They were silent for a moment. Off in the distance they heard the growl of a plane. Ian said, “Let’s get ready.”
    When they were loaded up and pushed out, before Maki started the engines again, Ian said, “Muffle the sound for the pup by holding this jacket over him. He’s probably okay since his ears haven’t opened yet.”
    Â 
    Somehow the pup survived the flight without panic. Ian radioed the vet, Dr. Dave, and arranged for a house call.
    Back at Pearl’s, when she hatched him out of her shirt bundle, the pup squealed for a few minutes, then became silent again. Nika held him close while Ian set about renovating the screen porch into a pup nursery. “This isn’t the first time Pearl’s porch has housed a wild orphan,” he said.
    â€œBabies are work, no matter how much fun they are,” he muttered as he cleared boxes and empty clay pots from the porch. He stuffed a layer of straw into an old wooden box he’d found in the shed. Then he came back with a dog crate with a carrying handle. “We’ll let him get used to this, too.”
    Nika sat on an old sleeping bag on the porch’s painted wooden floor. Reality blurred as the pup curled with his nose against her skin. She peeked down through the opening of her shirt. He was just a little loaf, a squirming handful. Ian said he probably weighed only a couple of pounds. When Ian finished the porch, they tried to feed the pup, filling a basting syringe from the kitchen with reconstituted dried milk, but the pup turned his head away and