The Wolves at Dusk

For my birthday in October, my wife surprised me with a trip to a wolf sanctuary in the mountains of New Mexico. I've loved wolves since I was a kid. I had posters of them on my bedroom wall.

The sanctuary takes in wolves and wolf-dogs that can't live in the wild. A volunteer walked us along the fences of huge, wooded enclosures and told us each animal's story. There was a shy gray named Raven, an old white wolf named Ghost and a pair of brothers who did everything together.

We stayed until dusk. As the sun went down, one wolf lifted its head and howled. Then another. Then the whole sanctuary joined in, voices rising and falling across the hills. The hair on my arms stood up. My wife grabbed my hand.

It lasted maybe a minute. When it stopped, the silence felt enormous. The volunteer smiled and said, "They do that most nights. They're just saying hello to each other."