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stimulate the pup to breath. When he
stops, I know I need to start breathing for him. I pick him up and
start blowing into his nose and mouth like I did for the first pup.
Grabbing the stethoscope I listen to his heart, and can actually
hear it slowing down. Compressing his chest, behind his elbow, I
try to massage some life back into his little body. Continuing the
CPR, I stop after about three minutes and check his heart beat, no
change; the little guy’s heart is just giving up. I look at Ursa …
she has no aggression in her eyes, just sorrow. I don’t want to let
her down, so I continue to work on him until Christopher takes him
from me.
    “Michael, he’s gone … she knows he’s gone. I
can tell you’re trying for her, because there's no longer the need
to try for him. It's okay, time to let him go back to nature. She
asked us to let him go.”
    This time, I, take the pup outside and bury
him with the others, just deep enough to not attract scavengers.
When I return, Christopher is in the kitchen making dinner. He has
already put a bowl with a small amount of dog food, mixed with what
looks like cottage cheese, next to Ursa’s water. Lune is cleaning
her ears while she sleeps soundly with her head on his front
paws.
    I am finally able to see the runt clearly;
Ursa has licked her clean before falling asleep. The pup is
wriggling against her mother's belly, happily making suckling
noises. At first, I think I am not seeing the miniscule wiggle worm
correctly; I think maybe she is covered by her mother’s hairy,
white underbelly. But now I can see … the pup is pure white, every
centimeter of her exposed skin is the palest pink. I‘ve never seen
anything like it. Arctic wolves are entirely white, but their pups
are dark … maybe she is an albino. I feel an incredible compulsion
to ensure this little one’s safety … above all else, I have to make
sure she survives.
    Turning to find Christopher standing behind
me, he was watching the new family with an expression that was
impossible to read.
    “You’re right, we need to protect her … for
some reason, I get the feeling she’s very important to our future.”
I know Christopher is talking to me … but I can tell I am not the
only one that he feels is listening to his statement. Looking
around, expecting to find a specter of some sort, I finally write
it off to his connection with the animals.
    “You know, Christopher, I thought your
talents were limited to hearing true thoughts when someone was
lying … why, do you read me, all the time?”
    “Well, actually, I'm sure that it’s kind of
like hearing the animals … you always tell the truth, a rarity by
far. I’m starting to understand that before my unfortunate time in
Los Vegas, I heard the truth from lies, because the chemical
response to fabricating deceit. That fabrication makes part of a
person’s honest mind actually scream the facts. I’ve always been
able to hear thoughts; I’m just sensitive to that particular
reaction. You, on the other hand, you whisper all the time, always
thinking, always analyzing … it’s like you have no room in your
head for dishonesty or manipulation. Since you are always stating
the facts in your head, as long as I listen closely, I can always
hear you.” He has a smile on his face that makes me wonder if he is
giving me a compliment, or enjoying his version of a freak show …
Ladies and gentlemen, the amazing honest man, as rare as the
illusive unicorn.
    “What is your attraction to freak shows?”
Christopher starts laughing so hard that tears roll down his
face.
    Blushing, I react by puffing up my chest, and
then ask what we are having for dinner and what can I do to help.
Christopher pulls himself together in just enough time to tell me,
all I have to do is grab a bowl. It is a simple soup that he had
apparently frozen; so all he had to do was throw it in a pot to
thaw. The kid is a good cook. His independence always surprises me;
I wasn’t nearly this