Of Puppies and Pyros

The car is a problem. Or rather, my brain is a problem, and the car is a catalyst. Every time I see her sitting outside by the road, I want to jump in and hit the highway. Fortunately the car is also the solution to another problem- to whit (I finally found a place for this phrase!) my long-overdue visit to Wolf Park.

For those who aren't familar, I've done two internships at the Park, totalling five months, and known the people and animals there for five years. For the first time in those five years, Wolf Park has pups again- Dharma, Tilly and Gordon. The fourth little girl, Devra, tragically died a few weeks ago, of a congenital defect.

Dharma, a little black female, will be staying at Wolf Park, with the hope that she will fornicate with Wotan and Wolfgang, thus propagating the Wolf Park line. Tilly and Gordon (the above picture is one of them, courtesy of Tom O'Dowd) have a home set up for them in a zoo. All of them are characters, with their own patterns of greeting. Tilly instantly flops on her back, and being nine weeks old she has a wide range of highly expressive whines to remind you that belly rubs are no less than her due. Dharma's a submissive piddler- you'd better hope she goes before she gets to your lap. She will then nibble politely on your chin. Your nose is also her property. As for Gordon, he prefers you to stay still and provide a barrier against which he can squish one of his sisters. All of them are gifted at stepping in their kiddie pool before charging into your lap. You aren't supposed to enjoy these things, and yet... I do.

Of course, there's more than one reason to visit Wolf Park at 4th of July. Let us not forget that wolf people are mostly closet (some not so closeted) pyros. Yes, even I- just ask my high school chemistry teacher. The fireworks are a massive affair, prefaced by bison burgers, salads that include edible blossoms, and lots of beer. Chief dangers include being hit by a firework and Monty slipping one of the super-hot peppers from his garden under the cheese on your burger. I wasn't caught by the pepper this year.

After fireworks comes the pants-burning. Oh yes. Pants worn all year for work and/or butchering get very grungy, and pass the point where they can be worn in the outside world. These are set aside for the celebration of our country's independence. A bonfire is built, and designated pantsdancers are, one by one, given a pole with the pants on the end. Light the legs, and wave the pants without dropping them. Give us a show. Tom was accredited with the longest and most creative display.

I'm back in Pittsburgh now. In a week, I'll be out again, to visit family in West Virginia. It's a little overwhelming, to be honest. For months I traveled in Africa, and I was very lonely most of the time. Sometimes I forgot how many pockets of family I have, scattered around. Some of them are related by blood, but not all, and many aren't even human. Just family.