The Big Cheese

My boyfriend and I were visiting Wolf Hollow wolf sanctuary in Ipswich, Boston, in the US in the late 1990s. On the other side of the chain-link fence a pack of wolves of different shades of grey and brown were milling about. The manager stood by the fence, telling us how he’d rescued the wolves from all over the US. He explained that wolf society is built on a strict hierarchy and pointed out one by one the alpha male, his mate the alpha female, the beta wolves, the deltas, and finally, the lowest-ranking omegas.

He had a bag of cubed cheese in his hand. The rustling of the plastic as he opened it drew the wolves’ attention, and when he threw cubes of cheese over the fence, they scattered after them and started – dare I say it? – wolfing them down.

All, that is, except the alpha male. He sat down by the fence and stared pointedly at the manager. He wasn’t going to lower himself by dashing here and there after the morsels. He wanted to be hand-fed through the fence. And so he was.

Next came a display of howling. To start them off, the manager did his

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best imitation of a wolf howl. One of the youngest – and lowest-ranking – wolves couldn’t help himself: he immediately followed suit. In wolf packs, the alpha male howls first, and only then do junior wolves join in. The alpha male clearly wasn’t happy at this insubordination. To show his displeasure, he grabbed the offender around the muzzle and led him off behind a bush, where we could just make out the younger wolf rolling over at his feet in submission. After the niceties of protocol had been clarified, they returned to the pack. The alpha male offered up a tremendous howl, the others then joining him in a wonderful chorus.