My grandparents lived on a farm on a reservation. They had two rescued timber wolves - one we found starving to death with her leg in a trap when she was an adult, rehabbed, and she just never left us and the other found as a pup when a backhoe dug up the nest and killed the others. I call them "pets" but let me stress that there's no such thing as a tame wolf.
One year, my mother was in the hospital and I spent Christmas with my grandparents. I declared that I was going to stay up alllllll night to catch Santa Clause.
My grandfather stopped that by saying Santa had asked the wolves to guard the tree. He said it in just an offhand tone of voice. The wolves were asleep under the table.
I fell asleep and woke up sometime in the middle of the night. Throwing off the covers, I ran down the stairs toward the parlour - where the tree was. Out of the dark at the base of the stairs rose two huge, hulking, snarling shapes with green glowing eyes. I screamed, the whole house woke up, lights went on - and there were our wolves, blocking the base of the stairs. I tried to push past them, and they'd head butt me back. When I finally pushed past one, the other - a giant female named Tika - grabbed the back of my pajamas and pulled me back.
My grandfather was laughing so hard tears were running down his face. My grandmother asked what was going on. "Isn't it obvious? They're guarding the tree." He then told them it was ok, Santa had been and left, and they could let me go. The two wolves parted like the red sea and I ran into the parlour and saw Santa had, indeed, been and gone.
I got revenge on the wolves by sticking every bow from every present on them. They looked very, very silly.
I think back on the many incidents like this and wonder how I survived childhood.
-Spooky
