Few would question claims that wolves are remarkably intelligent and sophisticated social creatures. In the wild they group together in a manner that strikes the observer as athletic, cooperative and cunning. Wolf family life within the pack is reinforced by a variety of communicative vocalizations, postures, and mobile displays. Legends about wolf social astuteness are rampant through native legends, trapper reports, and scientific observations. Understanding the deeper substrates of wolf social rules, however, can be elusive.

I offer two stories here that impressed me from a review of my early journal notes on Lupey, the first wolf with whom I had the privilege to be associated throughout the majority of his life. These stories have been reflected in life-time developmental histories we subsequently documented for nearly fifty animals at the Canadian Centre for Wolf Research in Nova Scotia. I am still in awe of the fact that we know so little about the wolf minds that drive their behaviors. The actual patterns of overt behavior are more readily susceptible to scientific scalpels, but no matter how elegant the objective data are, one can be left wondering what is going on in the heads of these magnificent and deeply social predators. I put the two stories together under the short-hand of wolf ethics. They make me both appreciate and wonder.

I acquired Lupey as a four week old pup from the Whipsnade Zoo just outside of London, England. We bonded closely together through times when we shared a rented home and attic flat in Cambridge, during idyllic days on a Manor Farm near the animal behavio(u)r station I worked at, during a voyage on the Queen Elizabeth to the states, for a couple of years sharing separate quarters at a dog kennel in Rochester, NY, driving together in a Land Rover for my first faculty position at the University of Oregon, and finally in our travels to Nova Scotia. Throughout his life Lupey remained playful, alert and occasionally short-tempered. The latter usually occurred when I behaved in a way that appeared to break rules he had established for our relationship. I made many mistakes, and thus broke many wolf rules.

The first story occurred one afternoon at the Manor Farm in England. I stepped out to the fenced back area only to be met with a menacing growl rather than the usual enthusiastic leaps, squeaks, and tail wags. Startled I stepped back. Tail wags and playful pawing postures ensued. Without much thought I stepped forward again, only to be met with a repeat of the challenging complaint. The process repeated two or three more times before my rule breaking dawned on me. My dear landlady, who spoiled Lupey with affection and tidbits of food, had given Lupey several raw chicken scraps, a few of which he consumed and the rest which he cached (buried) near the door leading from the house to his area. Once it dawned on me that I had broken the rule “don’t step on my chicken” Lupey returned to his happy go lucky, playful self. It was as if I had been warned against a stupid rule-breaking act, but once I finally caught on I was simply dismissed as another one of those stupidly ignorant humans. I was forgiven.

The second story was generated during our stay at the kennels in Rochester. I happened to be in the kennel when the caretaker, a burly ex-Baltimore cop who had routinely cleaned Lupey’s indoor enclosure and outside run, stepped in with the now large wolf. With frightening suddenness Lupey lunged toward this six foot man, placing paws on now trembling shoulders and snarling just a few inches from the caretakers face. I was shocked. Gradually the ex-cop backed out of the pen. I wondered if my wolf had suddenly decided that people were no good. Going into Lupey’s pen, however, I was met with the usual tail wags and social squeaks. My landlord soon joined me with his four year old daughter (not necessarily a wise move). The young girl who had often been with Lupey was licked on the face. So, naively, I thought the aberrant response to the caretaker was over. I was wrong. He re-entered the pen and again was challenged. He could never enter the pen again. A social bond had been broken. However, Lupey’s aggression was limited to this one man, a now shaken fellow named Bill.

Only later did I find out that on the previous day this individual was rushing to clean the pens, and when Lupey did not go out to his run quickly enough Bill hit him on the head with a shovel. The story told was that Lupey gave a startled growl, and then went outside. He had been betrayed. Now think of this in connection with my foolish stepping on Lupey’s buried chicken. Here I had just been a fool, with no intention of causing harm. Did Lupey distinguish between stupidity on my part and betrayal on the part of Bill? Maybe so. I think so. Such thoughts are, however difficult to confirm in any direct or even indirect way.

In our observations of wolves in a large enclosure at the Canadian Centre for Wolf Research we have seen several instances of wolves apparently making foolish mistakes and less frequently have witnessed one animal suddenly breaking the rules of previous social networks, such as through surprise attack. In the former case all seems to be forgiven. In the latter case no forgiveness is given. So do wolves have a sense of ethics? Maybe so. I leave that for the reader to decide.

Is there a moral to these stories? Maybe two. Don’t lie to wolves. And try not to lie about our understanding of wolves. As with all of nature, wolf mysteries unfold ever more deeply the more we allow ourselves to explore and wonder - and in this way also learn how little we really know.