Wolf Pack Bites Back

Insight on the News, Feb 26, 2001 by Julia Duin

Wolf-dog hybrids make cute pups but uncontrollable pets. Many end up in `rescue homes' where volunteers struggle to care for them.

Four miles down a long dirt road in the high-altitude pinon-and-juniper forest in western New Mexico, drivers come upon a hillside crowded with large cages. In them are several dozen wolf-dogs, also known as wolf hybrids, the fad pet of the 1990s that has fallen on hard times.

"People had no idea what they were getting into when they got wolves," says Katie Hedges, a volunteer at the Candy Kitchen Rescue Ranch, one of about 10 shelters for these large animals around the country. "They thought they'd get an animal that behaves like a dog. But a wolf is not a pet."

A powerful symbol of America's wilderness, the wolf has been bred with domesticated dogs to produce a superdog for pet owners. But wolf-dogs are fiercely independent and overly playful, capable of ripping up the household sofa or overturning a refrigerator.

"Wolves are superintelligent," says general manager Barbara Berge, who joined forces with ranch founder Jacques Evans in 1992. "Their brain size is 30 percent larger than a dog's. They are very curious. If there is a squeak in the couch, they'll take it apart to find out why."

Situated 136 miles west of Albuquerque, Candy Kitchen is named for a ranch in the area that once produced pinon-nut candy. Its three resident staff and four volunteers haul dog food, raw meat and fresh water each day to pens scattered over 20 acres. Eight-foot-high chain-link fences surround the pens, which range in size from 60 feet by 80 feet to an acre.

"One woman I know has three wolves in a townhouse in Santa Fe," says Berge. "She works with them 24 hours a day. She has no social life. They should never run unsupervised, as they'll go after small pets in the neighborhood."

Starting out as cute, docile puppies, the wolf-dogs are prone to challenge their unprepared owners for dominance. Housebreaking them proves extremely difficult and, because wolves are introverted by nature, they make poor watchdogs. Moreover, wolves and their hybrid cousins have a predilection for howling at odd hours of the morning and wanting fresh game, not dog kibble, for food.

Unhappy owners started dumping these animals in shelters around the country, including the Candy Kitchen, which is at capacity with 78 of them. The shelter averages five to 15 calls a week from people wishing to unload their unwanted pets. Through thrice-daily tours and their Website (www.inetdesign.com/candykitchen), the owners are trying to raise funds to buy 20 more acres to house more of these creatures and pay for their $5,000 yearly veterinary bill.

"We've had a lot of calls this month," Berge says. "Other rescuers I'm talking to via e-mail; they, too, are turning away animals."

Isis, a white female hybrid, was sent to the refuge from a Colorado Springs home after she bit one of the owners for playing with one of her puppies. She had been emotionally stressed after her mate died of cancer and one of her playmates was run over. It took weeks for Evans, the ranch owner, to win Isis' trust. Even so, when she points a finger and chastises the beast, it leaps at her and seizes her arm in her mouth. Isis has never drawn blood, but a wolf's jaw pressure is twice that of a dog -- 1,500 pounds per square inch compared with a German shepherd at 780 pounds per square inch.

King, a silver-black mix, has dug himself a den inside his enclosure (like all the other animals, his pen contains large rocks, trees and logs, made to look as much as possible like his natural habitat). Having been severely beaten by humans, he is considered too dangerous for any of the workers to enter his pen. They feed him through a side enclosure.

Although these animals are considered too violent for humans, they cannot be released in the wild, as they'd most likely end up at farms where they'd prey on livestock. But Berge says it's a bad idea to ban the animals altogether, as 10 states, including Michigan, have done.

"Banning is the worst thing states can do," she says. "It creates a climate of fear. Michigan has set impossible standards for people to keep these dogs, so people are euthanizing them. Some animals are living perfectly harmlessly with their owners."