One spring morning many years ago,I had been prospecting for gold along Coho Creek.As I emerged from a forest,I froze in my tracks.No more than 20 paces away in the bog(泥塘）was a huge Alaskan timber wolf-caught in one of Trapper George's traps.

Old George had died the previous week of a heart attack,so the wolf was lucky.Confused and frightened at my approach,the wolf backed away,pulling hard on the trap chain.Then I noticed something else:It was a female,and her teats(奶头）were full of milk.Somewhere there was a den(窝）of hungry pups waiting for their mother.

From her appearance,I guessed that she had been trapped only a few days.That meant her pups were probably still alive.But I suspected that if I tried to release the wolf,she would turn aggressive and try to tear me to pieces.

So I decided to search for her pups instead and began to look for incoming tracks that might lead me to her den.Fortunately,there were still a few remaining patches of snow.

The tracks led a half mile through the forest,and I finally spotted the den.There wasn't a sound inside.Wolf pups are shy and cautious,and I didn't have much hope of tricking them outside.But I had to try.So I began copying the squeak(吱吱声）of a mother wolf calling her young.No response.A few moments, later,after I tried again,four tiny pups appeared.I extended my hands,and they tentatively(试探性地）suckled at my fingers.Perhaps hunger had helped overcome their natural fear.Then,one by one,I placed them in a bag and headed back.

When the mother wolf spotted me,she stood straight.Possibly picking up the scent(气味）of her young,she let out a sorrow-stricken crying.I released the pups,and they raced to her.Within seconds, they were slurping(啜食）at her belly.

What next?I wondered.

Four years later,I returned to Coho Creek.

With all her big brothers and sisters off to school, our farm became a lonely place for our three-year-old daughter, Becky. She longed for playmates. We promised to buy her a puppy but in the meantime, “pretend” puppies popped up nearly every day.

I had just finished washing the lunch dishes when the door slammed and Becky rushed in, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Mama!” she cried, “Come see my new doggy! I gave him water two times already. He’s so thirsty!”

I sighed, another of Becky’s dogs.

“Please come, Mama.” She pulled my jeans, her brown eyes begging, “He’s crying — and he can’t walk!” “Can’t walk?” An unexpected change! All her previous imaginary dogs could do amazing things such as balancing a ball on the end of its nose and dancing on a tightrope. Why suddenly a dog that couldn’t walk? “All right, honey,” I said. By the time I tried to follow her, Becky had already disappeared into the bushes. “Where are you?” I called.

“Over here by the oak stump (橡树桩). Hurry, Mama!”

I parted the branches and raised my hand against the glare of the sun. A numbing chill ( 寒 战 ) gripped me. There she was, sitting on her heels, cradled (抱着) in her lap was the unmistakable head of a wolf!

“Becky,” My mouth felt dry. “Don’t move.” I stepped closer. Pale-yellow eyes narrowed. Black lips tightened. Double sets of two-inch sharp teeth were exposed. Suddenly the wolf trembled. Its teeth clacked, and a painful cry rose from its throat.

“It’s all right, boy,” Becky comforted lovingly. “Don’t be afraid. That’s my mama, and she loves you, too.”

Taking a closer look, I found the wolf stuck deep inside the stump.

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With Becky safe in my arms, I ran to our doctor Brian for help.

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On a winter morning, we piled into our car and headed out to the county kennel (养狗场), We were going to get a dog. I pressed my nose against the car window and wondered what he would be like. Would he shake hands, roll over and run after little animals in the woods? Each passing fence post drew me nearer to my dream dog.

As our family walked into the kennel, among the chaos and noise, silence caught my eye. He was sitting quietly and confidently in a corner cage. When I approached, he lifted one of his feet between the bars, and I touched it carefully. A handwritten sign at the top of his cage read, “Shepherd (牧羊犬)”. Ten minutes later, he was sitting in the back seat of our car.

“His name is Fritz,” my mother announced that night as we put a dog collar around his neck with our phone number and his name on it. Fritz adjusted quickly to life in his new home. Whenever guests arrived, he would run out to greet them. When we took our afternoon walks, he was a cheerful companion. The highlight of his day was when I came back, racing through the front door after school. He would slide through the entryway and then jump into my arms as if he had just won a great prize.

One Friday afternoon, my father declared that we were going out for the night. Each year we took a journey across the mountains to his hometown of Knoxville, Kentucky, for a day of sightseeing. As we loaded up the car, my father told me that the hotel where we would be staying did not allow dogs in. Therefore, Fritz wasn’t going with us.

As our car pulled away, Fritz watched from the edge of the yard with his tail waving quickly, as if to say, “Why are you leaving me alone?” Anyway, we set out. The next day when we came back home, it was already 6 pm.

Night fell, but there was no sign of Fritz.

Two weeks later, a call from a man brought us the great news.