There was a time when Fiona would run to the woods for cover at the approach of humans but she doesn't do that now. She is lonely. Loneliness brings compromise. She stands her ground as I get out of the car. Fiona was the last alpha female of the pack, when there was a pack. Some females win that honour in battle, Fiona did not. In the year of her ascension there was a dominance war brought on by the death of Pawnee. When the conflict ended the females that had survived the battles were pretty well torn up. None was in any condition to assume the top job. Tess and Morgaine were dead, Devil Child was dying from her wounds, Celtie would require quite some time to recover. Sweet Xyla was still standing but would never have been in contention. Though she would never bear young, Fiona through sheer avoidance of confrontation became alpha.

By comparison Fiona was unimpressive both physically and in the way she interacted with the pack. Pawnee, her predecessor, had been a shining example of an alpha female; in fairness, a hard act to follow. Slightly aloof, she was clearly adored by the pack and the devotion of her mate Galen was a delight to observe. When Pawnee died the heart seemed to go out of him. He paid Fiona almost no attention and made only a token effort to discourage her suitors during the mating season. In fact there seemed no need for him to do so. It was clear that Fiona was not having any of them anyway. If there is a female equivalent for a misogynist then she might be the poster wolf for it.

So in those days Fiona was not the favourite wolf among her human protectors nor indeed among her fellow wolves. Compared to the others there just wasn't much about her to admire.

But now it is different. She is the last of a noble family and that distinction alone makes her precious. Born in the spring of 1992 she is at this writing nine and a half years old. Nine years is as long as many captive wolves live though old Tracker was in his thirteenth year when he quietly slipped away. Who can say how long Fiona's solitary life will continue? She still has her woods and ample space to roam. She loves her home. In April of 1999 she, Ulysses, Jasper and Celtie escaped through a breach in the fenceline. But they were not comfortable in the world outside the enclosure. After a couple of days of scouting around the adjoining countryside three of them were at the gates trying to get back in.

Fiona's sister Celtie was the exception. She did not come back with the rest of the escapees. In fact when she left she took an entirely different path from the other three. She had fought and come close to achieving alpha status. In the wild such a wolf might very likely disperse in search of a mate from another pack with whom to establish a new family. I tracked her once in November of 1999 and found that she was traveling with a coyote. Celtie was the first wolf to run free in the forests of Nova Scotia in well over a hundred years. Some say they still see her now and again; fleeting glances. We don't know for sure but it is nice to think of her out there on the trail living by her wits and on her own terms.

I came to the wolves late in the game. It was 1996 and Dalhousie University had withdrawn financial support for the research. They were making noises about shipping the wolves off to various zoos or putting them down. Fortunately neither of those scenarios played out. A kinder plan was devised and implemented with the help of a lot of Nova Scotians both young and old. Though the research continued for another four years no pups were born during that time. The pack was growing old.

My five years with the wolves have been among the most rewarding of my life. As I stand here on this day, staring into the woods, I remember. Is that old Vooch's battle scarred white face I see there in the thicket, staring back at me. Ironically he got most of his scars from fighting with his best friend Galen. That would happen during mating season when Vooch invariably made vain attempts to win the heart (and other parts) of Pawnee. Later it would not be unusual to see Galen himself licking the wounds he had bestowed on his pal earlier in the day. Such was the nature of their relationship. In the quietude of less intense seasons the two could often be found eating dinner together apart from the rest, sort of an "old boys" club if you like. Over there behind the mound, is that Jasper I hear? No wolf was better at squeaking than Jasper, the recreation director of the bunch. And isn't that young Ulysses trying to get a game of steal the stick going down there in the meadow with sweet faced Noah and his brother Homer? They're all here in spirit today. My mind wanders back to that first winter's night when I carried a fifty pound bag of food through the darkness to the edge of the frozen pond inside the compound. Suddenly a chorus of howls went up and I realized that I was surrounded in the shadows by a dozen or so wolves who suddenly felt like singing a chorus or two before dinner, no moon required. That's the way it is with wolves. They know a thing or two about joy. So many wonderful memories drift in and out of mind and some heartache too. I think of little Phalen rescued from the wilds of Labrador and brought here an orphan to become part of the pack. As it turned out it was too late for the young scamp but oh how he tried. So many wild hearts, only one left beating.

And so I say thank you to Fiona and all of those others who enriched so many lives and brought so much joy to a world badly in need of it. Thank you.