A few years ago I saw a film showing wolves attacking a moose.
I know what you’re thinking – it’s like that scene in Beauty and the Beast when the Beasy jumps between Belle and the wolves and fights them off. The pack of lean, mean, yellow-eyed killers, all moving in coordinated purpose, fearlessly leaping upon a larger enemy without fear because they know that their superior numbers will wear him down. That’s what I thought of, too.
Boy, was I wrong.
The pack of wolves looked like a collection of suburban house dogs that had been kidnapped from their back yards and told that, if they brought down this one moose, they’d bet sent back home. They looked sad and forlorn, ears and tails down, sodden in the rain.
The Moose was standing in a stream, safely away from the miserable gathering of wolves, who were sort of huddled together atop the nearby bank, all looking at the Moose as if maybe they could will it into submission. They kept crowding each other towards the edge of the bank, and every now and then one wolf would lose his balance, and topple into the river. With nothing left to lose, he’d right himself, run over to the Moose, and try to nip at its leg before the Moose kicked or bit the wolf. Then he’d run back up the bank and get at the end of the line, trying to push another wolf over the edge so that he would try to deliver another attempt to nip the Moose.
At that rate, it looked as if it would take hours for the wolves to get in one successful bite. It looked as if the Moose could walk or swim away, unimpeded, at any time. The narrator said, though, that the pack successfully brought down the moose. I find it easier to believe that they took up a collection and paid off the narrator.
If this is what hunting is like in the wild, I can understand Wile E. Coyote’s affinity for Acme products. And I find the assertion, in Farley Mowat’s book (and the subsequent movie) Never Cry Wolf that wolves predominantly eat mice and voles over megafauna like deer and moose a lot more believable.