Editor’s Note: Each Wednesday, one of our Evening Sun reporters will visit a local business or non-profit organization to lend a hand for a day, finding out what it’s like to be on the inside.

For my first installment of “Punching the Clock,” I journeyed to Wolf Mountain in Smyrna to lend a helping hand to the preserve’s caretakers. Due to liability issues, I was unable to handle the wolves, or for that matter participate in anything directly involving them. Nevertheless, I learned a great deal about both the animals and the work that goes into taking care of them.
Although named Wolf Mountain, the preserve’s eight wolves are not its only inhabitants. Aside from director and primary caretaker Will Pryor, six eastern coyotes, and two rare arctic foxes also make their homes at the preserve. Feeding the animals is a constant and trying chore. They eat an incredible amount and most of their food comes from donations – and road kill. A walk-in freezer would ideally alleviate some of the difficulty, but it cannot yet be afforded.
One of the things that I did do was carve pumpkins for the wolves. A little known fact: Wolves love pumpkins. After the pumpkins’ seeds were gutted, the hollowed rinds were crammed with raw meats. On top of a zany pumpkin mania, the wolves relish wild berries and have their own berry patch in the stockade. Unable to quell their berry zest, the ravenous wolves rarely allow for the berries to ripen before gorging themselves.
I spent a great deal of time with one of the caretakers, Dave Conner, fixing the roping that dissuades visitors from trying to poke their digits through the chain-link fence. As Dave and I meandered around the habitat’s palisades, he told me that when he first began volunteering he learned he would probably never become a handler. Though saddened, Dave said he found it gratifying enough to simply be within close proximity to the wolves. Later, when two handlers departed from the preserve, Dave jumped at the opportunity.
The first time Dave entered the wolf enclosure, he told me he was confronted by the pack’s alpha male. At nearly 130 pounds, the brawny arctic wolf named Dancing Turtle is an aggregation of lean, knotted muscle and dense bone. Even through the chain-link fence, the alpha wolf exudes an air of raw predatorial power. As he paces back and forth, it seems the very molecules surrounding the wolf dance off of his thick white and gray coat, shimmering with bridled ferociousness.
When Dave entered the enclosure, Dancing Turtle rose up onto his hindquarters and rested his forepaws upon Dave’s shoulders. The alpha wolf towered above and when he gazed down, his snout came to the top of Dave’s bald head. This greeting could very well have became a ritual part of Dave’s entrance into the enclosure. Dave knew that if he showed even an ounce of fear, the wolf would knock him to the ground and mark him by rolling on him. When wolves mark people in this manner, he told me, it can quickly escalate into a dangerous situation as the pack is driven into a frenzy. Resolute, Dave showed no fear and gently pushed the wolf off. Since then, the wolf has never again jumped on Dave, but each time he enters the enclosure, along with the rest of the handlers, he must receive the alpha wolf’s blessing in order to enter the stockade that day.
Although I left Wolf Mountain without an intrepid experience of my own, I remain in awe of the majestic beasts. As an owner of two large dogs, I assumed that I would know something about wolves. By the time I left though, I had become acutely aware of my folly. The contumacious wolves are nothing like docile dogs who dutifully come when called and compliantly sit when told. Even physically, they are but distant cousins. Unlike dogs, cows and house cats, no part of the wolf has gone soft from domestication. Every fiber of their being has remained a perfect contrivance for the hunt.
For more information on Wolf Mountain, visit www.thewolfmountainnaturecenter.org.