the nation. I wouldn’t say that all the buzz was good, but it does give you something to think about. Are we truly calling the proper things animals? Is it enough to be human to walk upright and talk? It all happened in early spring, when farmers were ready to plow the fields for planting season.
In the middle of Iowa, tractor drivers were getting back to work after a long winter. They were harrowing the soil to make it more breathable and ready for fertilizer. Jack is a strong, middle-aged man who has lived in the country all his life and raised a sizable family there. He was out there with everyone else, riding his faithful John Deere. He tied up the harrow to the rear with ease and drove out to the fields. He was given the edge plot, which was directly next to the woods. Jack thought, “Sweet, there are fewer people here and more fresh air to breathe.”
Jack
His
“Looks like you only light up for them. You act distant and chilly around me.
He
He turned off the engine and stepped outside into the cool air. He felt the freshness of early spring hit him hard. It was the kind of freshness you only get when the snow has just melted and the ground is full of thaw water, full of vitality, and ready to grow new life. In the distance, birds were tweeting, and the fragrance of damp dirt and blossoming wildflowers was in the air. Jack looked out at the horizon. “Wow, this is the life,” he thought. “What could be better than being out here with just you, the dirt, the sun, and Mother Nature?” “Not really. I could never understand those city slickers who were always in stuffy offices, always in a hurry, and always late.” Any day, I want wide-open expanses.
As Jack got back into the cab and started the tractor, he thought about that. He rolled onto the field, lowered the harrow, and was about to rev up his iron horse when he heard strange noises. He thought, “What is that?” “Wolves howling?” But why now? He leaned out the door and tried hard to hear. “Yeah, it sounds like a pack of gray wolves.” This is strange, especially for this time of year. Jack shrugged it off, got back in, and pressed the gas, revving the engine.
The tractor roared to life, leaving a trail of newly turned soil as it pulled the big harrow across the Iowa field. Jack moved through a thick patch of trees and came to a clearing that stuck out into the woods like a wedge. There was nothing on the patch but last season’s fragile grass, which swayed slightly in the wind. There was only the sound of the motor and the occasional bird call. It was a wonderful piece of country tranquility.
But then Jack saw something strange that stopped him in his tracks. A group of gray wolves was right in the midst of the clearing, in the brilliant sun of midday. Not just one or two, but a full group, maybe a dozen, were shrieking like their lives depended on it. Some of them arched their necks back and let out creepy wails that echoed across the field. Others walked back and forth, nervously sniffing at a strange, dark object that appeared like a beat-up wooden container. It appeared like they were attempting to get his attention by waving their arms.
“What’s going on?” Jack grumbled as he held on to the steering wheel tightly.
The wolves saw him and got even more scared. Some of them trotted closer to the tractor, then ran back to the crate, where they scratched at it with their paws or bit it with their teeth, leaving small scratch marks on the old boards. Jack had seen wolves in these woods before, but only for a second before they disappeared into the trees. Those times were always tranquil, with no problems. But this? The present situation was a whole different thing. Wolves didn’t act like this, especially not in Iowa, where they were rare and it was light out.
He walked down to the tractor’s step, one hand on the doorframe, and kept a tight eye on the pack. These wolves weren’t being hostile; they seemed like they were begging or desperate. When the wolves noticed him watching, the howling grew quieter, and some even backed off, as if they had accomplished their goal of getting his attention. But a few persistent ones kept scratching at the crate and growled low as they pulled on its edges.
Jack’s instincts told him that something was really wrong. He jumped down to the ground, where his boots sank into the soft dirt. He remained by the tractor and waited to see what the pack would do next. The wolves began to leave, as if on cue. One by one, they slipped into the forest, their gray coats blending with the darkness until the final flick of a tail disappeared behind a thicket. The area was quiet again, save for the slight creaking of the tractor motor as it cooled down.
Jack took a crowbar out of the cab, and his heart started to race. He carefully walked up to the crate, looking at the woods in case the wolves came back. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a rough wooden box with misaligned planks and rusty nails, suggesting a hasty assembly. The wolves wanted him to find whatever was inside. Then he heard it: a sound that impacted him like a punch in the chest. A baby was crying inside the crate, faint yet clear.
Jack looked through a crack in the boards of the crate, and his breath caught in his throat. Inside was a small baby, barely bigger than a pile of blankets. The small one must have just woken up because their cries resonated in the empty field. Jack didn’t waste any time; he shoved the crowbar into the seam and pushed on it with all his strength. The wood broke apart, and the nails came out like they were ready to go. He grabbed the loose board and yanked it off in one quick pull, then threw it onto the grass.
What he saw next shocked him: there were two babies, not just one, huddled together at the bottom of that broken container. There were twins, maybe six months old at most, wrapped up in dingy old rags that scarcely passed for clothes. It was freezing in early spring, and if Jack hadn’t stopped, these kids would have frozen to death out here in the middle of nowhere. He couldn’t believe that someone could leave vulnerable babies like this.
He felt a surge of emotion wash over him. His throat clenched, and hot tears made it hard to see. He blinked tears back hard and carefully picked up the babies, one in each arm, and held them against his chest. Their little bodies were cold to the touch, but they were alive and moving around, cooing and wiggling now that they were protected.
“Who in God’s name would do such harm to you little ones?” Jack whispered, his voice breaking as he rocked them gently.
The babies merely looked up at him with big, innocent eyes. One even smiled with a gummy smile and reached out a fat hand to grip his plaid shirt. It broke his heart right then and there. He rushed back to the tractor and carefully put them on the passenger seat, wrapped them in his jacket to keep them warm. Then he unhooked the harrow, which could wait, and cranked the engine. He turned the John Deere toward the small village nearby. He stole looks into the woods as he drove down the dirt road, mumbling to himself.
What he saw next shocked him: there were two babies, not just one, huddled together at the bottom of that broken container. There were twins, maybe six months old at most, wrapped up in dingy old rags that scarcely passed for clothes. It was freezing in early spring, and if Jack hadn’t stopped, these kids would have frozen to death out here in the middle of nowhere. He couldn’t believe that someone could leave vulnerable babies like this.
He felt a surge of emotion wash over him. His throat clenched, and hot tears made it hard to see. He blinked tears back hard and carefully picked up the babies, one in each arm, and held them against his chest. Their little bodies were cold to the touch, but they were alive and moving around, cooing and wiggling now that they were protected.
“Who in God’s name would do such harm to you little ones?” Jack whispered, his voice breaking as he rocked them gently.
The babies merely looked up at him with big, innocent eyes. One even smiled with a gummy smile and reached out a fat hand to grip his plaid shirt. It broke his heart right then and there. He rushed back to the tractor and carefully put them on the passenger seat, wrapped them in his jacket to keep them warm. Thereafter, he unhooked the harrow, which could wait, and cranked the engine to spin the John Deere toward the small village nearby. As he drove down the gravel road, he snuck glances toward the woods and whispered to himself,
“You say wolves? Taking you right to them? That’s a big lie, Jack.
But they drove back to the spot together, with a forensics team from the county seat behind them. The scientists confirmed it: there were fresh paw tracks all around the clearing that belonged to gray wolves. The investigation didn’t take long to put together the sad facts. Their mother, who lived in a town some twenty miles away, had left them there. She was living a tough life, drinking hard and making negligent decisions, and it seems she thought these kids were just too much trouble. She and her lover slipped out at night, put the babies in the crate, and left them in the field, thinking that someone would find them in the morning.
But in the middle of nowhere, with no roads or houses around? During the inquiry, they couldn’t even articulate that section well. The best part was that they said the container was to “protect” the youngsters from wild predators like wolves and coyotes. What a strange way for parents to think. What about Jack? He was never the same after that day. He began to value time with his kids even more, becoming the parent that was always there for stories and playing. He came up with the idea to launch a kids’ club at the community center not long after. He would bring all the kids in the area together to make model rockets and cars, and their laughing would fill the air like music.
“What’s two more when we already have three rugrats?” As they signed the documents at the orphanage, his wife added with a bright smile,
It was good to pick up the twins and take them home to their warm farmhouse. And all of this is thanks to the wolf pack, who went out of their way to save their lives. You have to wonder, though: who is actually the animal, and who has the heart of a human?
