The Where-is-She Wolf

Once there was a family. An ordinary family… mostly.

Except that every full moon when conditions were right; when the wind was in the north and the trees waved their branches across the stars… 

Mum turned into a wolf. A tall, thin, shaggy wolf with yellow eyes, sharp fangs and huge dirty paws. This was a problem. 

Mum’s howling woke Christopher and it took Dad hours to settle him. It gave Matthew bad dreams and Dad had to get him a glass of milk and hold his hand until he fell asleep.

The neighbours complained, and sometimes called the police. It was embarrassing when Mum bit Constable Granville, who was Matthew’s best friend’s father, and even worse when she chased dear old Mrs Lee across the road and up the slippery dip in the park.

Mum pulled the washing off the line and tore it; her own clothes were not safe, nor Dad’s nor Matthew’s; even Christopher’s nappies were ripped and muddy. She frightened the cat nearly out of its wits. The vet’s bills for its medicine cost a fortune.

She buried bones (goodness knows where she found them) in the sandpit where the children found them later, disgusting and smelly. She scared the possums to the tops of the trees. She knocked letterboxes flying as she passed. She chased cars. She ran into town and frightened people coming home from the movies.

When she came home, she always brought something stolen from here or there. Dad had a terrible time explaining things to everyone the next day. 

Mum scratched her fleas (she had awful, big ones) all over the chair on the back verandah. She snored terribly and yelped and twitched through wicked werewolf dreams, waking Christopher, Dad and Matthew all over again.

Worst of all, Mum never remembered anything about these exploits. The next day she always woke in the verandah chair. “I must have been sleep-walking.”

Dad, Matthew and Christopher lay in bed, wishing for more sleep. Mrs Lee studied her books of Feng Shui, hoping for a solution. Constable Granville filled in forms in the office, then ripped them up. Nobody would believe him. The neighbours wondered whether to move to another street. The cat and possums cowered in their hiding places. The cinema manager wondered why business was so bad, and shopkeepers muttered to each other about vandals and the dreadfulness of modern youth.

Mum woke up in a bad mood. 

“What’s happened to the washing? Matthew, get ready for school. John,” (that was Dad’s name), “Where are you? Am I the only person who can look after the baby? Why do I never seem to get through the mending… and why am I so itchy?”

Once Mum had sorted out a few things, she was back to her happy, organized self. Matthew, Dad and Christopher tried to forget what happened. Mrs Lee, Constable Granville and everyone else did forget. The cat, the possums and everyone else got on with their lives…

… until the next full moon. 

One day Matthew came home from school with a tiny white puppy. 

“Can I keep it?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Dad.

“It’s sweet,” said Mum.

“Dog,” said Christopher.

“I’m calling the puppy Fluffy,” said Matthew. Everybody loved Fluffy. She lived in a kennel in the garden. She was a good dog because Dad, Mum and Matthew taught her to sit, come, and stay, and all the things good dogs learn. They all loved Fluffy and never let Christopher pull her ears or her tail.

Again the full moon came with a north wind. Mum woke. She looked out the window and howled. Dad sighed and put the pillow over his ears. Matthew started to have a nightmare. Christopher screwed up his face and took a big breath, ready to cry.

Mum lolloped down the hall and out the back door…

… and there on the verandah was Fluffy.

After that there was never any problem with Mum at full moons. It must have been because Fluffy was so well brought up. Fluffy taught Mum all the things that good dogs learn. She learned not to touch the washing, or to bite, or growl; to leave neighbours and cars alone; to howl only when she really had to. She buried her bones in the corner behind the compost heap. She ran around the garden instead of around town. She retained her fascination with letterboxes, but then Mum was interested in letter boxes even when she wasn’t a wolf.

The only problem that didn’t go away was the fleas.

Dad, Matthew and Christopher thought getting Fluffy was the best thing they ever did.

Mum did too. She just never could work out why that verandah chair always made her want to scratch.