It was cold and damp in that little travel trailer. It seemed a bit igloo-like. I was completely alone, and had little to occupy my time. 'RV Dream' lifestyle, indeed! I was having some doubts.
I ended up reading Richard Byrd's classic outdoor tale, "Alone," about his travails in the Antarctic. How receptive we are, when we read just the right book under the right circumstances!
A couple weeks ago, during that miserable waiting for the Peripatetic Poodle to miraculously appear, I re-read "Alive," the story about the South American rugby team who suffered a plane crash in the High Andes. They made a movie of it. But it didn't inspire me, like you might think. Instead it made me feel ashamed of holding onto such unrealistic hopes.
In one of Fred and Ginger's movies, they acted out a scene where a suicidal man, who has lost all his money gambling, chances upon a woman who was ready to throw herself into a river. They found each other, saved each other. They decided to "Face the Music, and Dance" to Irving Berlin's music of that name.
Here at last was my inspiration. I went to the animal shelter and adopted the first female dog that I've ever owned.
One final connection between my little dog's brush with death and books remains: the tales of Jack London. Although his novels like "White Fang" and "Call of the Wild" are best known, my favorite was always a short story called, "Love of Life." It is funny that a reader used those very words.
In this short story a man slowly starves to death in the far North. Along the way, he is stalked by a wolf who is also dying. They move along, slowly and painfully, linked in this Dance of Death. The man knows he's losing the battle. He--or rather, the Life in him--tries to think of something else.
It doesn't matter to me that wildlife biologists or wilderness societies might disapprove of London's stories. What counts is that reading his stories helps us get in touch with...
...the Wolf Within.
