There are still, even in these most enlightened of times, some people who believe that wolves only exist in children's stories. There are others for whom the sight of a shaggy, grey-coated creature prowling around a wildlife park enclosure warrants little more than a photograph and a half-stifled yawn. But all of these people are wrong to think like this, for wolves come in many forms and their ways are rarely simple and benign.
A short while ago, in days much like our own, there lived in a busy country market town the prettiest little girl that you could ever have seen. Her hair fell about her shoulders in free flowing cascades of black, liquid motion. Her face was as serene and quietly beautiful as that of the fairest fairy tale princess.
This little girl's mother was excessively fond of her, as were the whole of her family, but no one was more proud of the little girl than her dear old grandmother. In fact, and much to the little girl's delight, her grandmother made a bright red hoodie for her with the words 'Shooting Star' emblazoned upon its chest in gold lamé lettering. The little girl doted upon her grandmother, and because she wore her lovely red hoodie every day, everybody in the neighbourhood called her Little Red Gangsta.
One day, just as Little Red Gangsta was about to set off to meet her chums at the local park, her mother called out to her. "Dova, love, be a dear and take this packet of Writher’s Uniques to your Granny's house. She's not been at her best lately and you know how she loves a nice suck on something tasty and hard boiled".
Little Red Gangsta's real name was, indeed, Dova. Her mother gave her this name because it was fashionable at the time to call a child after the place of his or her conception and little Dova had been conceived during a pre-Christmas booze-cruise. Needless to say, Dova's mother had not done well at school.
Little Red Gangsta thought about complaining, but then she decided that enjoying a packet of hard-boiled sweets with her darling Granny might be just as much fun as hanging about on the swings with her girl friends and talking about boys.
"Of course, mummy", she replied as she took the bumper pack of sweets from her mother and set off immediately towards her grandmother's house. She skipped and sang her way along the city streets, waving to her grown up friends and schoolmates as she went happily on her way.
By the local convenience store Little Red Gangsta turned into an alleyway that she used as a shortcut on her way to Granny's house. The alleyway passed around and behind the corner shop and as Little Red Gangsta idly kicked a half-squashed fizzy cola can along in front of her, she suddenly caught sight of a whole row of overturned dustbins. The pavement was littered with gnawed chicken bones, chewed up burger cartons and masticated carrot peelings. It was a terrible mess and Little Red Gangsta thought it was appalling. Her outrage at this wanton vandalism turned to shock and then to fear when she saw a thin ribbed, spare and shabby looking dog nuzzling his way though some greasy chilli kebab wrappers.
The poor dog was so pre-occupied with his desperate search for nourishment that it was he who recoiled in fear and terror when Little Red Gangsta shouted at the top of her delicate young voice, "Oi, scram!"
The dog sprang backwards and landed bottom first against the alleyway fence. He squatted there, trembling from the tip of his jet-black nose all the way to the end of his scrawny grey tail. He cringed and whined as he hunkered down on his belly in abject supplication to this menacing phantom dressed in red.
Little Red Gangsta's initial feelings of fear gave way to a sense of disbelief. The dog looked so pathetic as he cowered there in front of her that her initial feelings of disgust and revulsion gave way to the strongest feelings of pity. She was so overwhelmed by her feelings of compassion for this desperate creature that she quite forgot to be amazed when the dog spoke to her.
"Don't...don't hurt me, please", whimpered the dog. "Just...want...food, yeah, yeah, yeah"
"Well, you won't get much of a meal out of those bins", said Little Red Gangsta. "What you need is some nice steak or some sausages".
The dog continued to cringe and whine, although he was starting to eye up the rather large bag of sweets sticking out of Little Red Gangsta's hoodie pocket. She continued to talk to the dog in a quite matter-of-fact way.
"You look so sorry for yourself, dog. I think you need some help. Oh, and by the way, you're not having any of Granny's sweeties".
"Dog!" growled the pathetic beast and he rose up to his full height. Despite his trembling and the rumbling of his stomach, he barked as fiercely as he could. "I'm no dog. I am Wolf, proud master of the wilderness, spirit lord of the north lands and of the mountain slopes!"
This momentary act of bravado was all that the wolf could manage. He slouched back onto his hind legs as the hunger pangs took hold again and he whimpered, "I'm lost and alone here in this horrible place. Help me, please, help me".
Little Red Gangsta remembered the tales that her Granny had told her when she was very little. Before she considered helping further she asked the wolf, "You're not going to eat me or my Granny, are you?"
"Haven't got the energy", the wolf said forlornly, "and I'm far too frightened of this terrible city. I promise to be good if only you'll help me find some shelter and something to eat".
Little Red Gangsta was so touched by the plight of this bedraggled lord of the wilderness that she agreed to help him straight away. He explained that he'd escaped from the city zoo a few days previously and now rather wished he'd ignored the call of the wild. After some discussion it was decided that the wolf should go to Granny's house for the time being. Little Red Gangsta was sure her lovely Granny would be only too willing to help such a poor and lonely creature. Granny was, after all, such a dear old bat and she had a heart of gold.
"Right, Mister Wolf, if you're sure you can follow my directions to Granny's house, I'll be off to find some sausages for you", said Little Red Gangsta.
"No problem", said the wolf and off he slunk into the shadows, heading towards the west, where Granny lived in a little red brick, terraced cottage.
The wolf made his way to Granny's cottage with as much speed as his four tired and scrawny legs could muster. Little Red Gangsta worked methodically and quietly, the way that she'd been taught by the big girls who hung out with her at the park. She managed to relieve the local branch of a national supermarket chain of two pork joints, a pack of minted lamb sausages and a box of turkey wrigglers. It was amazing just how much contraband she could hide underneath her big red hoodie. She knew not to hurry, because that's how mistakes are made, and so, at last, she set off for Granny’s house carrying all of poor Mr. Wolf's rations.
Meanwhile, upon reaching the house where Granny lived, the wolf checked to see that no one was about, put on his bravest, most charming smile and knocked on Granny's front door.
"Who's there?" asked Granny, peering through the little spy hole in the middle of her front door. All that she could see were the tips of two very furry ears and the tip of gently swishing tail.
"I'm...I'm a friend of Little Red Gangsta", replied the wolf, trying to sound as warm and as cuddly as he could. "She found me wandering the streets and she befriended me. She told me to come here and to wait with you while she gets me some food. She said you're kind and caring and you have a heart of gold".
“But I’m not a fool", muttered Granny behind her door, for although she was old and frail, for although she did have a heart of gold where her family was concerned, she also remembered the olden days, when wolves were wolves and vicious brutes to boot.
"Hold on a minute, please", said Granny as she lifted a cast iron fire poker out of her elephant's foot umbrella stand.
Granny flung open her front door and brought the cast iron fire poker crashing down on the wolf's head with all the strength that she could muster, which was, alarmingly, quite considerable for someone of Granny's age and general physical condition. Being as weak and feeble as he was, and having led a relatively unferocious life at the city zoo, the wolf was totally unprepared for an assault by a Granny using extreme force. It was all that the poor creature could do to roll over and die as quickly as he possibly could.
It took Little Red Gangsta nearly two hours to purloin Mr. Wolf’s luncheon and to trek all the way over to Granny's house. When Granny opened the door to Little Red Gangsta she was so relieved to see that her grandchild was still in one piece, having spent the last hour or so wondering whether she had become dog food. She really did think the wolf had eaten her grandchild and she'd been getting into a real state trying to work out how best to tell Little Red Gangsta's mother.
"Oh, my lovely, lovely girl", cried Granny, quite overcome with emotion, and she hugged the little girl tightly to her ample breast. Little Red Gangsta loved her Granny very much and didn't think anything was at all wrong with this welcome. She accompanied Granny into the kitchen, where she gave her the pork joints, the minted sausages, the turkey wrigglers and the very large packet of sweets.
"How very thoughtful", said Granny, beaming, "and all for me?"
"Not exactly", replied Little Red Gangsta. "You see, the meat is for a poor, starving wolf I met in town. I told him to come over here and wait for me. Have you seen him, Granny?"
Granny sat Little Red Gangsta down on a stool and looked at her sternly. "I know you meant well", she said, "but you can never trust wolves. Promise me that you’ll remember that in future. No matter how sad or cuddly or playful they might appear on the outside, remember, my darling girl, remember this; a wolf is always a wolf, in the same way that a boy is always a boy. Neither of them can ever be trusted."
Granny and Little Red Gangsta both looked over at the cooker. Boiling and bubbling away on the hob was Granny's huge old stockpot and even though the pot lid was rammed down as hard as possible, poor Mr. Wolf's head, bleached right down to the bone, could still be seen looking right back at them.
Little Red Gangsta started with fright and she looked into Granny's lovely face for some reassurance. Granny looked back at her and smiled what she hoped would be a big and comforting smile.
"Good gracious, Granny", said Little Red Gangsta, "what very big teeth you have…"