So, there’s this little girl who likes to hang around outside my place.
She was born late, this girl. Her sisters and cousins are all nearby, of course, but she is that annoying younger sibling who tags along at the end of the group and wants to be a part of everything.
She’s irresistible, in her way. C’mon, you know what I’m talking about: the little girl who is the absolute definition of “cute”…
That’s the problem, however. This little girl…she’s been all around town. Everyone knows her, everyone helps her. Worse than that, everyone has taken care of her.
Everyone is killing her.
She was born in early August, this girl.
That’s pretty late…especially for her family.
This cute little girl — this girl whose charms I can barely resist — she won’t survive to see the new year.
It takes a certain amount of bulk to survive the winters up here. It takes size and endurance to walk through the drifts and piles of snow. It takes mass and volume to maintain body temperature in the sub-zero temperatures. It takes power to push aside the snow and find the food hidden beneath.
But for a little girl born two months after everyone else? For a tiny cutie the tourists have coddled and fed?
She won’t survive.
Every slice of bread offered up will kill her as surely as would any hunter’s bullet. She hasn’t learned to survive, she’s learned in her short life to rely on humans for the food she desperately needs. Except that there are no humans around, now. Not any that will feed her, anyway.
No, as sad and hard as it is to say about a little one you watched grow up, the wolves need to eat, too.