Life is hard. Especially,
of course in the months of frozen ground and slim pickings. Only last week I saw a friend of mine
killed. He was torn apart – literally –
by the dogs that come in the winters with the men. And he had been strong. We wedged ourselves deep into a rabbit warren
and the stampede passed us by, though we were not so naïve – we knew it was
because they had fixed on another quarry.
We heard the sounds and waited.
Afterwards, the others and I hid the body so that his family
wouldn’t have to see the mess. Around
here, you have to grow up quickly.
There’s no time for messing around.
Those four, they were strange.
Jokers, into kids’ stuff. One of
them in particular, spent a long time around the cubs. Not bothering to learn to hunt. Eating others’ pickings, or eating spiders
and slugs. And one was half blind. A weakness that we cannot live with for
long. Two of them didn’t take females in
their second year, and none of them bred a litter. And now they have all gone, without
increasing our numbers.
The first time the pair that were always together came back,
looking scrawny and grey and generally unhealthy, they had no dens to stay
in. Had to beg shelter where they could
get it. That kind of behaviour weakens
the whole group.
