Lucian, a mid-content wolf dog at Wild Spirit Wolf Sanctuary. Wild animals are not pets!
“We don’t produce thought inside of our minds – thought exists independently of our minds. We attune ourselves to currents of thought that exist apart from us, and only receive them in our minds, as when we tune a radio to a particular station. Our mind is the radio and thoughts are the myriad ‘stations’ we can ‘tune into.’”
— The Yugas, by Joseph Selbie & David Steinmetz
I think that anyone who has engaged in a creative process can relate to the above statement, no matter what kind of creative act. Whether its music, photography painting, writing, designing, martial arts, dance, sports, sculpting, inventing, tinkering – whatever the work – all tune into a particular frequency, and even more precisely, a particular station differing for each person.
Every time I am deeply engaged in writing my novel, a station I have been tuned into for years, I am receiving something that feels simultaneously part of and independent of my mind. Certainly, I ask questions of my characters, of their world, their motives and backgrounds, and I cultivate their stories, the story as a whole, based on this. Yet, there is much that feels outside of me. When I don’t know what’s next, I wait until a flash of insight or intuition strikes. Where those feelings, scenes, images, conversations come from is part of the wonder and delight of creativity, a beautiful mystery.
There is a similar kind of tuning in that comes with working with animals. We have to tune into their station. We are leveling, and just as we are observing and interacting with the animal, they are sensing us, and sometimes testing us. Though tuning into animal energy differs from tuning into creative energy, both require presence and focus.
I have learned much from, and come to admire deeply, the presence of animals, particularly the wild canines I work with at Wild Spirit. They are always present – even when resting, relaxing or playing, their senses are still active and listening. All of that is very subtle: a slight shift in the eyes, a tilt in the ear, a waving of the tail. Instinct and intuition is critical in the animal world, in which humans, though we seem to have forgotten, play a part. Animals live in the moment and so force us to be there with them, a place where we often falter in this stage of humanity. We fail at living in the now, at relying on our animal nature, our instincts to guide us. There is so much self-help out there focused on being present that it is clear this is something people in today’s fast paced world are craving. In my own search I have found the wolf to be a profound teacher.
The wolf’s presence, along with their sheer power, their innate wildness, may contribute to the deep seeded reasons we fear and revere them culturally. They have something the human animal has lost and is trying to regain. They need no weapons to hunt and survive, just as they need not practice being in the now. Instead they live it.
Unless an animal is quite old, feeble, has lost some of its senses, or is ill, there is no surprising or sneaking up on them. In fact, they are so attuned to their surroundings that they can sense things long before we can. Even domestic dogs can hear and feel a thunderstorm hours before their owners. Accounts of animals fleeing shorelines in mass before major environmental disasters like tsunamis are another proof. They know.
Thus, when working with wild animals tuning into their frequency is very important. It is the platform from which knowledge and understanding can be gained, as well as safety ensured.
“The present is the place of power. When we say someone has great presence it is because they are showing up fully consolidated with all of their energy available in the present moment. They are not thinking about the past or worried about the future.”
— © Copyright 2015 ~ Lena Stevens All Rights Reserved, Mystic Mamma
When entering any habitat, from a fox to an arctic wolf, I first assess where the animals are, what they are doing, and what their demeanor and body language is saying. Are they eating or guarding food, sleeping, fence fighting, or disciplining their mate? Do they appear over-excited, calm, active?
As a rule, staff and volunteers are discouraged from entering habitats when feeling ill, on medication that causes drowsiness or disorientation, preoccupied, angry or upset. Of course, entering a habitat while intoxicated is forbidden. This is because the animals can sense that something is different or ‘off’, and for an animal with naughty or dominant tendencies, entering their territory in such a state creates the opportunity to be taken advantage of. In addition to the safety issue this can cause for caretakers, when we lack presence we can also miss the important things the animals are telling us, signs that they are experiencing emotional distress, or that they are injured either internally or externally. In both cases, it is unwise to be mentally somewhere else.
Once we enter an animal’s habitat we have entered their territory where the animals expect things to be on their terms. This means interaction, where we are and are not allowed to go, and what we are allowed to touch and/or take. It is always important to remember that the habitat is their turf, where they know every inch of the terrain and where they call their home. As such, it is imperative that we as caretakers not only respect the boundaries of the animal, but also assert our own dominance so they understand they cannot take advantage of us. This assertion of dominance is achieved in different ways. With some animals the presence of one or two tools (a shovel and a hoe, used for scooping up waste) is the only way to ensure the animal will respect the boundaries set by the caretaker. Even so, carrying the tool is not the sole answer. Presence on the part of the caretaker is still required, and carrying the tools strategically (so they protect the back of the legs, for instance) may also be necessary.
In saying all this I am in no way indicating that wolves are mean or devilish, but merely pointing out that they are wild animals, have wild tendencies, and communicate in their wild wolf ways to each other and their human caretakers. This is the crux of the reason that wolves and wolf dogs make poor pets.
Therefore, to be effective caretakers we are taught to think and act like a wolf, making learning to communicate in their language an important part of animal care training. For instance, many people lean over their dogs to pet or hug them, but to wolves this is a sign of dominance, something that a more dominant animal might find unacceptable. Conversely, lowering the body to the ground, crouching or even crawling can coax a shy animal out of their shell. Making ourselves smaller implies submission, that we are a friend, not a foe.
In all these ways the practice of presence is a pillar of the animal care training program at Wild Spirit. Caretakers are expected to be watching and listening at all times, whether inside an enclosure or in an office, just as a wolf hears and sees everything around them. Collective howls take on many meanings. They can indicate when fights are happening and when an animal is being hurt. Similarly, noticing a behavioral change, like when a food aggressive animal becomes disinterested in eating, can mean that the animal is sick. These kinds of observations can and do save lives.
There are countless examples I can share of situations at Wild Spirit where someone’s presence made all the difference. For now, though, I am choosing to focus on one animal in particular who has taught me much about presence.
Taking a dip.
Lucian is a mid-content wolf dog I have known since I first volunteered at Wild Spirit (mid-content wolf dog meaning about equal wolf and dog-like traits in personality and appearance). Over many years of visits our relationship has deepened, and when I returned to Wild Spirit in January I was assigned to be his caretaker. His mate, who he lived with since his arrival as an adolescent, was older and passed away a few months prior. He was clearly still in mourning. He seemed sad, less playful, and considerably grumpier. What I mean by ‘grumpier’ is that he had become even more particular about where he wanted to be touched (and didn't), for how long, and he seemed to have become even more possessive over his stuff.
Since I was first introduced to Lucian he had always wanted to dominate me by knocking me down. He has jumped at me (or tried), tested me, snapped in my face, and growled at me any number of times simply because he is the kind of guy who likes to throw his weight around. He can be prone to tantrums, is aware of his strength and seems to enjoy messing with people. His personality is big, and he is extremely smart to boot.
Nevertheless, whenever I entered the habitat he would greet me at the gate, excited to see me and ready to sniff my waste bucket. When I walked around the habitat picking up feces and bones he followed me, trying to stick his head in the bucket while I was walking, or the moment I paused to pick something up. He frequently enjoyed peeing on the bucket, another sign of possession, and darted over whenever I cleaned out his water bucket to drink out of it while I was cleaning when he had no interest in it if I wasn’t touching it.
So, how do you handle it when an animal is showing signs of dominance? Don’t back down. At first, I was quite nervous when he would follow me and try to possess the waste or water bucket while it was in my hand, but I came to recognize that as long as I was confident he lost interest in the game. When he follows me and I become uncomfortable I tell him I don’t like what he’s doing, that he needs to be nice, or needs to back off. Talking to the animals really helps convey to them that you are present with them and watchful. Even if they can't understand the words, the tone and the fact that verbal communication is happening can make a difference.
When I cared for Lucian as a volunteer I learned the signs of the ‘no warning jump shot’ early on, a stretch maneuver where he looks like he is just doing a little downward dog yoga pose and then launches at you. If he did catch me off guard, I would push him down mid-jump. I found that prolonged eye contact usually brings on the jumping. He seems to view eye contact as an invitation to come closer, or a threat to his dominance, depending on the person and his mood. When he realized I caught onto the jump maneuver and I started calling him out on it “no, you can't come up here,” he made the stretch smaller and smaller until he had barely lowered his front legs before trying to jump on me. By reading his body language I have been able to pretty accurately predict what he will do next, even when he switches from docile to dominant in a flash.
When an animal’s actions, energy level, and dominance tend to alter quickly it is even more important to be completely present with them. When petting Lucian, if I see him turn his head slightly and look at me out of the corner of his eye I know he is getting annoyed and could get testy. All it takes is an instant of distraction or preoccupation on the caretakers’ part to enable a situation where the wolf or wolf dog gains the upper hand.
At the same time as it takes a high level of alertness to be able to maintain our standing as caretakers in the animals habitats, it is also very fulfilling to come to learn each of their personalities and quirks by observing and interacting with them. Understanding the way they communicate, how they are speaking to us, either by making sounds, using body language, eye movement and so forth, makes the human-animal relationship stronger. With a level of understanding between us, trust can be built, making the bond for both highly rewarding. I know that my relationship with Lucian has improved due to my understanding many of his triggers; because he knows he cannot push me around there is a respect between us that allows for vulnerability. Neither of us is on edge wondering what the other is going to do, creating more relaxed, comfortable, and enriching interactions.
I am grateful to be able to practice this type of animal presence in the first part of my workday (animal care lasts from 8am – 10:30am), as it often translates into a more focused, tuned in, moment-by-moment driven day. Of course, I have an even deeper gratitude for the love the animals bestow, their interest in and enthusiasm for interaction, relationship building, and for the lessons they teach.
The last experience I’ll share here has to do with a red tailed hawk. In 2012, I volunteered briefly at a Massachusetts Audubon in the animal care and education departments. The staff knew I had worked with wolves and in one of my first days the director of education, feeling confident I had experience with wild animals, offered to introduce me to the red tailed hawk. Although I had no experience with birds, let alone birds of prey, he felt comfortable taking me in, so I took him up on his offer. Off we went to the habitat.
All of the animal’s residing at the Audubon had some injury that prevented them from being released back into the wild, and the hawk lived in a small habitat reflecting that. It could fly, but not well enough for the wild. The director entered and I entered behind him. The bird was in the opposite corner on a perch. While the director was talking I kept my eyes on the hawk. I had a wariness around the birds that differed from any wariness I feel around wolves, because bird’s can fly, giving them an added level of unpredictability that I had yet to begin to understand having never studied or worked with them prior.
We could not have been in the habitat more than a few minutes when I saw the hawk hunker down, lower it's head and hunch up its wings. My first thought was that the bird was going to fly at my face. The director continued talking, unconcerned. The moment the thought passed through my brain, the hawk launched from the perch at my face with talons outstretched. Lucky to have had that instant of foresight I was able to lower my head and block the blow with my arm, deflecting the hawk to the ground. The director was shocked, and as he was saying, “this has never happened before,” the bird launched at my face again, this time from the ground. Still on guard, I blocked the second strike, but this time the bird’s talons clawed the back of my head.
We left the habitat moments after, the director repeating that this had never happened before, and that he had never seen the hawk be aggressive. I was stunned and shaken, but not upset, just sincerely thankful for the training I received at Wild Spirit, which instilled in me to recognize the power of any wild animal, to respect it, heed it, be present with it, and tune in.