Little Wolf

Ch 10 On My Own

The wind whipped at me as I indulged myself for a few miles. I had taken my helmet off and allowed myself to be as much wolf as I could while controlling the motorcycle. This is the sort of brainless thing my dad would chew me out over, and something I'd always dreamt about doing. Right now, I couldn't resist. I had a clear, empty stretch of back road with no parent in sight.

I couldn't wait to start my first day of work. I was looking forward to putting my education to good use. My new job suited me. There was an extensive range of chores involved. I've enjoyed doing most of them at one time or another around the reservation.

Dealing with the public is something that was also part of the job description. I had worked seasonally at the old lava tubes back home and often did tours there; that's probably one of the things that helped me get this job. Being a Forest Ranger wasn't the highest paying or most glamorous job in the world, but it was hard to be a wolf and not appreciate the beauty around us. Making sure it stayed that way was just a natural inclination.

I pulled over to put the helmet back on when I passed a sign for the upcoming state route. I planned on camping until I got my first paycheck, saving up my money. I could sleep anywhere, and always hunt if I needed to.

I got to the main ranger station just as they opened, fifteen minutes early for my appointment. I made sure to park my bike by the front to discourage people from fingering my stuff. There were two men and an older woman behind the counter. The one guy was older, with salt-pepper hair, a thick build, and in a uniform. The other guy was about my age, with short, sandy-blonde hair, a slender build, and in street clothes.

I walked up to the woman, giving her my best charming, yet polite, smile. I knew it was the older man I needed to talk to, but I wanted to make a good impression with someone I had a feeling was going to be bossing me around whether it was her place to or not.

"Hi. Rick Wolcott, here to see John Slater."

It was going to take some effort to respond to the name I chose to go by here. My Native American name meant little or youngest wolf. I felt it would be awkward if these people called me Little Wolf. They weren't family and didn't know me. My birth certificate read Ulric Wolcott. The name Ulric meant "power of the wolf"  in German, while Wolcott meant "wolf's cottage." Considering Dad's heritage, both my first and last names made sense. The most straightforward Americanization of my name was Rick.

The lady looked up at me, took in my friendly smile, found herself smiling in response before motioning to the swinging door at the side of the counter—a good start in my book.

The older man motioned me over. The other guy and I followed him to a back storage room where he pulled out uniforms for us. The paperwork and orientation took a few hours. After that, John gave us a tour of the park in a jeep. The other new hire and I didn't have much of a chance to talk besides short introductions. John kept up a steady monologue about our duties, how we would alternate tasks depending on the season, and the long term schedule of overseeing the park.

It was late afternoon by the time we returned. We had lockers, a small variety of tools to go with our uniforms, and a packet of paperwork. John was keeping Derrick, the other new hire, and I on the same schedule as his own at first, so he could supervise and evaluate our performance. He warned us that after a few weeks, we might have different hours, depending on when and where we were needed.

Derrick pause and gave an admiring whistle when he saw me stop at my bike. I hoped it was my motorcycle he was whistling at and not me. He came over, and thankfully, it was the bike he was eyeing in appreciation. I grinned up at him.

"You like?"

"It's downright sick, Rick."

His eyes raked over my bike while he circled it. The way he was entranced and staring at it in awe had me laughing.