Rafe

Rafe peered through the crack of the boarded wall. Shadows were appearing indicating the sun was going down. Soon darkness would blanket his hiding place. He no longer panicked at the sounds of autos, people and the unknown sounds. But he was always wary.

He had been alone now for a while, existing in the shadows, always searching for food and shelter. He seldom thought about him mom and dad. Occasionally he thought of his brother and sister, wondering if they got away.

He was glad he had escaped, but then, there was the constant hunger. Easing through the cracks, careful of the nails, he slipped out and quickly ran to the shadows of the trees. He began checking behind the big green metal boxes that smelled mostly of rotten food. When the big boxes were full, bags of food landed on the ground.

This time he was out of luck. Nothing was in reach. Rafe looked around but there wasn’t even wadded up food bags. He would have to keep searching. His stomach growled as he took a familiar path leading to the park. Crouching in the shrubs he glanced about.

A man caught his attention. He was sitting on a park bench pulling something out of a bag and putting it to his mouth. Then the smell reached Rafe’s nostrils. He wanted to run and snatch the bag away from the man.

The old man saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing around he saw Rafe. They maintained eye contact for several minutes. The old man tore a piece of bread and held it up for Rafe to see. Rafe wanted to go get it, but memories of the people who took his brother and sister flashed through his mind. The man sat for a long time, eating, watching Rafe.

A church bell rang in the distance, ten times. The old man got up, wadded the bag and slowly walked to a trash ben to deposit it. On the seat he left a piece of bread. The man walked slowly away, checking occasionally to see if Rafe had moved. Rafe remained in the security of the trees and shrubs until the man was out of sight.

Rafe quickly ran to the bench and devoured the bread. It was fresh and tasted so good. Several hours later Rafe gave up searching for food and returned to his hide out. The sun was beginning to rise as Rafe carefully checked for any slight hint of danger before fatigue overtook him.

That evening he began his route in search of food and water. After finding nothing, he returned to the park and was delighted to see the old man on the bench. The smell almost enticed him to go to the man. Fear again took over.

When the church bells tolled, the man stood, took his trash and threw it away. Once again something was left on the bench. With his mouth salivating, he walked up to find a small hamburger. Rafe consumed it within seconds, hardly taking time to chew and swallow.

This time Rafe followed in the shadows for almost a block until he was afraid to go further. The next evening was the same except Rafe was becoming relaxed around the man. When the old man walked off, Rafe followed him further than the night before.

This went on for several weeks. Each night the distance between them grew shorter. The old man talked to him in a soothing voice, but Rafe refused to respond. Then, one afternoon they arrived at the old man’s house. He tried to coax Rafe in, but Rafe was way too suspicious. The old man went behind the house where he opened the door to a small outbuilding. Leaving the door open he went into the bigger house.

Rafe waited a very long time before he went to look in it. An outside porch light shown just enough for him to see it was a safe looking place. Cautiously he went in. A clap of thunder cinched the deal. He would stay one night.

The next morning at first light, the old man went out to see if Rafe was there. Rafe had woken early to find the rain had stopped and left before daylight returning to the place where he felt secure.

That evening was a repeat. When he got to the outbuilding there was a pillow and blanket. The next morning the rain had returned. He stayed the day but was nervous. The storm dumped hours of pounding rain on the shed. Rafe was dry, comfortable and warm. When the storm stopped just after dark Rafe slipped into the night.

By dawn he was back. The old man appeared mid-morning, leaving food on a table outside. He spent the morning doing something on the porch, humming as he worked. Rafe found it surprisingly calming and even came out of the shed to watch him. This soon became a routine. Every day they came closer and closer to each other, the old man talking and working. Rafe began to think he had found a home and to trust the man would not call the people to come get him.

Then one evening they were in the fenced back yard when the old man locked the gate. Rafe panicked. He couldn’t reach the lock and the fence was too high to climb over. He ran around the yard frantically pleading with the old man. The old man continued to try to soothe Rafe with his soft quiet voice. Only when the old man brought him food did he calm. That night Rafe cried. He couldn’t get out, but he had a place to sleep with food and water.

Slowly as the days grew shorter, he cried less and less. The old man continued talking to him in the same soothing manner until one day the old man brought out a couple of chairs and put them side by side. He took a seat in one and indicated Rafe to take the other. Rafe declined. The next evening was a repeat except this time the old man put the food in the seat of the chair. Rafe had no option. To get the food he would have to come to the chair to get it.

He approached carefully watching the man. Hunger overrode the fear. As he reached to get the food, the old man grabbed his arm. Rafe immediately bit him. The old man’s reflex was to strike back at Rafe. Rafe bit him again, this time clamping his teeth firmly around the man’s hand. The old man tried to hit him with his other hand. This time Rafe backed off out of reach of the old man. He paused watching the old man who now had a menacing look in his eyes and was cursing. Picking up his walking cane, he raised it in the air as if to strike Rafe.

Rafe crouched, ready to pounce. A low warning growl rumbled in his chest. The man took one step with the cane aimed at Rafe’s head. Rafe instinctually sprang, teeth bare, straight for the larynx ripping the throat as his feet landed on the man’s chest knocking him down. Hitting his head on the concrete walk, the old man lay still.

Rafe, being the caged wolf he was, shredded the man’s skin. The taste of fresh blood pumped him full of adrenaline. Once satiated, he turned his attention to the fence and gate. After repeated attempts he was finally able to leap from the man’s chair to the top of the shed then over the fence. Without a moment’s thought, he raced for the shadows that would hide his escape. He didn’t return to his previous safe place instead deciding it would be better to keep running. By morning he was near the outer city limits. Within two days he would be safely out of human settlement.

He was a wolf. He was free now. Never again would he trust a human.

The moral to the story… a wolf by any other name would still be a wolf.