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Counting Fingers Because she's sure the wolves have taken some, Geraldine
has started counting fingers. She's not sure how many she had
before. She thinks they may have taken a nose, a breast or some
of her toes. But mostly, her fingers worry her. They look lumpy and
uneven, leftovers the wolves rejected. She has fed the wolves ice cream
and donuts. Slipped out with steak and chicken, hands full of scrambled
eggs. Sometimes their long tongues and sharp teeth
wrap around her fingers, but always, they seem to let go and try again
lunging for the treats she offers them. A nip here, a bite there. One,
she says, two. Three. She starts again. One. The wolf pack forms
around her, sweeps her out into the darkness with them. Tonight, she
offers sugar cookies. With sprinkles. Her pockets are full of them.
More About Mary Stebbins: Mary Stebbins followed on foot free-ranging horses through
the canyons of Bone, Idaho. She enjoyed coyotes, pikas, snow in July and
horned-toad lizards and slept under a red-tailed hawk nest.
You can email Mary at taittems@earthlink.net.
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