He was an exceptionally shy wolf.  Most wolves are extremely shy.  Those of us who are scientifically oriented might say because we killed thousands of wolves over the centuries, only the ones so skittish that they panicked at the very sight of a leaf in the wind, survived.  The more mythically inclined of us might say they have carried the terror of the persecution of generations.  But even among shy wolves, he stood out. We named him Timber because he was the lovely silver-gray of a timber wolf, and because he was so tall, magnificent and stately.

Timber had an unusually sensitive stomach, perhaps because he took things so hard.  We varied his food, each new diet working for a while, until he reached his seventh year.  One morning during early rounds we found him standing in the back of his enclosure trembling, looking at us, mutely asking for help.  We rushed him to the vet.  He was in acute crisis, but they didn’t know why.  If we wanted to save him we would have to take him to a teaching hospital.

What do you do if an animal looks at you asking for help?  There was no question.  We gave him an intravenous drip, packed several bags of IV fluids to help him survive the long journey and drove through the night to Colorado State University for emergency exploratory surgery.  They found that one section of his intestine had slipped inside the other, blocking food from passing.  Against all odds Timber survived the surgery.  He went into intensive care while the doctors ran more tests and we drove back through the second night to care for our 59 other animals.  It was wrenching, leaving an ill and terrified wild animal in a strange place, to be handled by strangers, unable to explain we would be back.

Five days later we brought him home, a weak but living wolf.  The diagnosis was severe progressive Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD) possibly due to an allergic reaction. They estimated his chance of recovery as poor.

The animal I saw bore little resemblance to Timber.  There was no wolf-light in his eyes.  But he raised his head feebly in recognition.  We carried him into the living room and gently placed him on the warm heated floor padded to ease his bony frame.  He was shaved on his front legs, shaved on his back legs, shaved on his belly and shaved on his side, where various tubes had been inserted.  Around his middle he had a large white bandage out of which protruded a stomach tube through which we were to pump liquid food and medicine every two hours.  He was on three antibiotics, intestinal motility drugs, antacids, and massive doses of prednisone.

I made a bed for myself on the floor next to him, wanting to sense any changes, hoping that caring energy would tip the balance.  He was too weak to stand, meekly letting us do whatever we needed to.  Meek is not good in a wolf.

With stomach feedings and time he gained a bit of strength and a little light returned to his eye.  We got him off antibiotics after a month, hoping that would help with his digestion.  But a few evenings later around 10pm we walked into the living room and gasped … he was lying on his side, his stomach so distended it looked like it would pop.  A rush to an on-call vet – a very confused vet when the x-rays kept turning out black, until she realized she was x-raying air.  We spent the early morning hours watching a wolf deflate as she inserted a needle into his abdomen, pumping out the air, and the equivalent of a wolf smile appeared on Timber’s face.

Another exploratory surgery and she found the problem – a hole in his stomach where the stomach tube had been.  The next day there was wolf light in his wonderful yellow eyes.  Now that he was over the crisis, we began to research how to heal him.  The prognosis from all the vets he had seen were pessimistic.  But he had asked to live, had fought so hard, had survived so much.   We had to leave no stone unturned.

We had been told not to allow him to touch any food he had ever been exposed to, as the diagnosis was IBD secondary to allergy.  We tried specially-prepared veterinary diets: whitefish and rice, duck and potato (he turned up his nose in disgust), salmon and rice, venison and rice.  The rice passed right through and the rest just kept him at starvation weight.  Some days he would eat and throw up, some days he wouldn’t eat at all, and his stools were not objects of health and beauty.

We did what we could to ease any inter-wolf stress.  An animal of commanding presence and dignity, Timber was a natural alpha wolf, yet he also had that exceptionally sensitive personality – a difficult combination to manage within oneself.  He had the additional stress of not feeling well yet having to put up a good front – other wolves are not forgiving of weakness.  So he lived in our cabin at nights, soaking up tender loving care and spent his days in the Wildlife Garden with Scamper-Who-Lived, a female wolf, for companionship.

We found a nutritionist who specialized in IBD in canids.  With hope, we consulted at length, giving him Timber’s history.  He said he had healed animals on the brink of death from IBD through diet.  He believed the cause of IBD is often cooked food and recommended a purely raw diet.  However there were few sources of protein Timber had not been exposed to, limiting possibilities.  It had also been suggested that we keep some foods in reserve in case he became allergic to each new food over time, leaving him with nothing he could eat.  We were currently keeping him alive on canned tuna and fresh organic eggs donated by our chickens.

Following the recommendations we tried a diet of raw, finely ground organic buffalo, bone meal and vegetables.  To our delight Timber fairly lept upon the new food. He began to gain weight.

It has been a delicate balancing act over the last 16 months, charting every few hours what we feed him, how much, how often, what temperature, what probiotics, what supplements, what the results are out of either end.  He has some days of nausea and indigestion, but most days he is just fine.  Often his stools are absolutely gorgeous — something that was never supposed to be possible.  We e-mailed pictures to his vets. They took it well.

We are not yet satisfied and continue to experiment with nutritional and energetic approaches.  But Timber is, in all important ways, a healthy wolf.  He has zest for life, an excellent appetite, and is once again a vibrant gorgeous animal with a properly wolfly sense of mischief.  It has been a long, arduous journey, and he has fought for his life all along the way. He has earned every joyous moment of it.

2 Comments

• Print
• Share

• Sanctuary Map Explore
• Support the Animals Help to provide food and medical care. Support
• Explore your work through new eyes.Plan a Retreat
• Support Earthfire Help spread the vision of a new way to relate with natureSupport