The Pup Who Cried Wolf by Chris Kurtz Page B

wolf or his relatives.
    I lift my leg, leave my calling card—very, veryexpertly, by the way—and then lope off to find myself a place to wait.
    I know from the fresh smell of the calling cards that wolves like to come to this meadow often, and I am sure that they will be back soon. I don’t want to scare off any potential prey, so I decide to find a hiding place.
    There’s a clump of tall grass on a high bank that overlooks the meadow. I crawl inside the clump and wait for my brothers.

14
A Life-and-Death Matter
    I lie perfectly still. Completely camouflaged. Unseen. A top predator at his most dangerous. Totally invisible.
    Then a fly lands on my ear. It tickles. I do not stir. A top predator does not break his cover for any reason short of life and death. The fly circles the edge of my ear and tickles some more. I do not move a muscle.
    The fly takes a sightseeing adventure—southbound. It’s walking on the inside of my ear! The tickle curls my paws, but otherwise I remainstill as a statue. It turns out this fellow has a special move saved up for me. It’s called the go-deep-and-then-buzz-as-loud-as-you-can move.
    I jump about four feet in the air and hit the ground running, shaking my head as hard as I can. My ear has decided this is a life-and-death matter.
    When I am sure the bug has taken his game somewhere else, I hop back into my hiding place. If any wary prey has seen that display of strength and agility, they will be long gone. All the rodents and vermin who happened to be watching at that moment are shivering at the bottoms of their holes.
    The thought of vermin makes me think about Hector and the way he helped me get away from Alexandra. I hope he is meeting girl rats, and that at least one of them doesn’t find him as ugly or disgusting as I do.
    He’s fine, I tell myself. He is probably having a party.
    But what if the other rats take a disliking to that strange white fur and kick him out? Then where will he go? He can’t hide. At night hepractically glows. An owl or a weasel would make short work of him.
    What? Is it possible I’m worried about Hector? Never in a million dog years did I think I would worry about that little pest. But here I am fretting about him.
    Maybe Glory is watching out for him. It would be just like her to spend her free days checking up on the little guy instead of testing the wild winds of Yellowstone. I think of her racing down a canyon on wings that feel young and quick again.
    If I wasn’t such a cold-blooded predator, I would say that I miss them both. I would say that I am going soft and that I care about those two unfortunate critters. But a cold-blooded predator has no time for such tender feelings. He thinks of one thing only—survival for himself and for the pack.
    I lie very still in my hiding place and remind myself over and over that my pack is out there somewhere. They will bound over to me when they see me. Their heads will be up, ready to welcome the newest hunter into their group. The wolf leader will lick my nose and I will lick his and then we will sniff each other.
    We will sniff noses, and we will sniff necks and shoulders. Sniffing is a big deal in the dog world. Then we will move down and sniff sides and back legs. And then will come the big finish of the sniffing business, where we will sniff … Well, never mind that part. If you’re not a dog or a wolf, you might not understand. The important thing is that we will sniff each other and then we will hunt.
    While I am running through all that sniffing in my mind, the sun is getting hotter and hotter. My hiding place is getting more and more uncomfortable. Grass and sticks can poke the soft underbelly of even the most ferocious top predator. There is another thing that’s getting uncomfortable.
    My stomach.
    I start thinking about dog food. Delicious, crunchy, perfectly sized dog food and a cool bowl of water right next to the food. “No,” I