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- Herausgeber: BookRix
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Today some fantasise about the wolf but in the past the wolf was seen as an ever present danger and especially in the winter. These three stories highlight what it was and still is like for some living close to wolves. The first two are set in Russia where the vast conifer forest called the Taiga holds wolves and the third is in Canada where the wolf runs on the Tundra and in the forests.
The wolf is hardy but has been hunted to extinction in some countries . Re-introductions are being made but the fear of wolves is an old one wired into our psyche. Wolf fear is there in the mind of modern humans waiting to be awakened; the fear that, despite all our technology, we who are so powerful could become prey.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018
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Wolf Stories
To the wild places and the stories they give us. Wolf killings of humans are rare North America. A recent case in Alaska was only the second documented case of a wild wolf killing a human there. There are an estimated 60,000 to 70,000 wolves in North America, including 7,700 to 11,200 in Alaska. Source NBC news. In Russia and Eurasia the situation on wolf killings is different. Siberia features frequently in reports but so does Armenia , Pakistan, Iran and parts of Europe. Rabies is a constant worry.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 MunichThe Wolf and The Christmas Cake.
Every year babushka, our granny, would bake a Christmas cake.
It was rich in fruit and spices and she always added brandy.
As granny got older she put more and more brandy in the cake.
My father suggested she was drinking some of the brandy as she made the cake.
Granny’s house was in the forest, but not so deep in. The postman could still get there in his horse drawn sledge.
Granny used to make the cake in October. She said that by Christmas the alcohol would have fermented the nuts, fruits and berries that were in the cake and she was right – it usually tasted really nice, especially with cream or custard.
At Christmas granny would go to her son’s. She waited for the post sledge and brought the cake with her in a large bag.
This year the frost was hard, 40 below, the snow was deeper, the tracks filled in behind the sledge as it approached granny’s Izba (log cottage) in the forest.
She had noticed wolf tracks round the cabin when she went to feed the birds. At night she stayed in.
“Halloo to you babushka, “shouted the postman from his sledge. He didn’t want to tarry for the runners would freeze in and he would have hours of digging.
The door of the cottage opened and babushka emerged, her head covered in a bright shawl. She wore several coats so she was like a balloon as she made her way off the veranda.
In her right hand she clutched her handbag and in her left hand the heavy bag for the Christmas cake.
“Good day to you grandmother. I take it you have the cake?”
Grandmother had been finishing off the brandy before she left the cottage but that did not stop her collecting her belongings and carefully locking the cottage behind her.
As she mounted the sledge a wolf howled.
Stephan the postman gave a shudder.
“I have seen lots of tracks on the trail, and here,” he pointed to the ground, “round your house.”
The old babushka pulled herself and her belongings into the sledge and arranged herself under the fur rug.
“Forward march,” said Stephan to the horse, giving the reins a jerk.
He jerked again. With a lurch the sledge took off through the snow. The wolf howled again.
Babushka reached into her bag.
A leg of chicken emerged. She had been taking it for a snack on the journey. She threw it out of the sledge.
“That will slow them up for a little while,” she thought, for she was convinced there was more than one.
In the Russian winter when food is scarce, wolves come together in large packs.
She remembered the winter of ’32 when a pack of 40 had been seen.
A little while passed in silence. She observed how beautiful the birch trees were, bending under the weight of the snow.
About thirty minutes later another howl broke her out of her reverie.
Babushka ferreted in her bag and took out a large pork pie. Her neighbours had helped her kill the pig and with the meat she had made the pie. It was heavy. She fumbled with it but managed at last to heave it out of the sledge.
Stephan whipped up the horse. The sleigh was now travelling quite fast. The horse’s hooves were kicking up the snow, lumps of it were hitting her face.
Fifteen minutes passed – another howl.
