Visions and Revisions:
or Dogs Took the Right Evolutionary Path

Okay, maybe I don't want to get in touch with my Inner Wolf. Yes, I read the account in the New York Times of the wolves reestablished in Yellowstone National Park.

Wolves in the wild do NOT watch Xena on TV

You fans, who think I'm an ego maniac, get a load of this. After number 38, a 122 pound gray wolf, clawed through the bars of the cage in which he was transported from Canada last year to his new home in Yellowstone National Park, he started a gang war with the the Crystal Creek gang, a wolf pack which had already been established in Yellowstone Park. He and his crew, the Druid Peak pack, killed not only the alpha male but all his offspring and took over their den. Survivors of the raid were chased off to a remote area of the park. Number 38's rival for dominance is as Whoopy put it a "brave widow woman, who must watch Xena." Whoopy, I said, wolves in the wild do not watch television.

Anyway, the account in the Times clearly favored the pack headed by this matriarch, who has already lost two mates, one when she was captured in Canada, and Number 10, the mate she took in her new home, who was murdered by a human, even though wolves are protected in Yellowstone. The murderer was fined and did jail time for the deed.

As Whoopy and I avidly listened to Frances reading the article about wolf warfare, we noticed Charlotte was busy chewing an old soup bone. "Aren't you interested in these stories of wolf heroism in battle?" we asked her. "Oh," she said, looking up briefly,"do canines still do that? That's so tired!"

As I write this column, Frances is bringing me cold compresses for a swollen eye, the result of a bite incurred at the dog run during a fight in defense of a stick. "Just a scratch," the humans said, "but it hurts like hell." This is just a little too much pack rivalry for my taste. Here I thought I was okay. My home pack--Whoopy, Charlotte, and ex officio pack member, my owner, Frances. My B.Q.E. pack--my running buddy Ralph, Precious, Fluffy, et al. My dog run pack--Ringo, Wally, Detour, et al. With my overlapping directorship of these canine organizations, I was consolidating my influence for the good of dogdom. I would bring to Williamsburg-Greenpoint the Pax Otto. I would mediate among warring factions. Otto, the great leader, the power broker! "Otto, with the fat eyelid," said Whoopy, scornfully. She knows how to hurt a guy. I decide I don't want to get too close to either my Inner Wolf or somebody else's, especially somebody else's. Domestication is good. Bring me another cold cloth, Frances.

Incidentally, the author of the article on Freud I referred to in my last Otto's Column, is Mark Edmundson. I notice that this article generated a lot of letters printed in this Sunday's magazine section: Prozac, pro and con, and psychotherapy before and after latter-day revisionists. There is a sharpei at the B.A.R.C. kennel so aggressive nobody can clean his kennel properly. Prozac is his last chance. I hope it works. What I am opposed to is drugging a dog just cause he gets into the garbage. On the other hand, I really appreciated the shot of Solid Gold Golden Edge Pet Calmer Frances put on my breakfast after this morning's incident.

Rescue Remedies
People magazine, which rarely engages my interest, piqued my curiosity when it ran a picture of the blind golden Lab Norman on its cover. Norman was pictured with the young female human Lisa, who he pulled from an undertow. Norman was the only one on the beach who heard Lisa's cries for help. I read about Norman in Dog Fancy in February, which also revealed Norman's shelter background, a significant omission in the People account. He had been scheduled for euthanasia. Dogs seem to be pretty good at pulling people from undertows; it's not just a Baywatch fantasy. A dog who rescued a child from a flooding creek in South Carolina received only an anonymous mention on the evening news. Maybe that was because the dog was unable to rescue the girl's younger sister, who drowned. The People story wasn't just about Norman. It was about other pets who saved owners and others from life- threatening situations. I couldn't help noticing that Labs were disproportionately represented among the dog heroes (two of the four). Even though I identify German Shepherd, this makes me proud of my other heritage.

Among the animal's featured was Scarlett, the local cat heroine, who endured severe burns saving her kittens, one at a time, from a burning building. The North Shore Animal League received 1500 adoption applications for Scarlett. I wonder how many of those humans followed through and adopted a run-of-the-mill, nonheroic cat, when they lost the Scarlett lottery.

Tommorow's Hero?

An animal doesn't even have to save anybody to provoke this kind of response. When sanitation workers brought to B.A.R.C. a dog who had survived being run through a garbage truck compactor, the phone rang off the hook with calls from folks only interested in adopting that dog. At the time, there were at least a half dozen truly desirable dogs at B.A.R.C.; they just didn't have quite so dramatic a survival story. Adopting any dog is pretty dramatic in itself. When I was a mangy escaped junkyard dog roaming the streets, who would have guessed I would become the Williamsburg Street Retriever? Thanks, again, Fairy Godmother Rescuer Kathy. Think abo ut countless dogs euthanized at the Center for Animal Care and Control. Folks who covet a high- profile pet, but aren't interested in other dogs or cats, make me suspicious. They're also misguided. Often a lowly mongrel stray transforms into an adored handsome Prince when he has a home.

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