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S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 1 4 7 stand there regarding him for a long, skin-prickling moment before it melted into the woods. The encounter so unnerved the guy that he took to carrying a sidearm in addition to his smoothbore, not so much for his own protection (or so he told me, anyway) as for his dog's. Ironically, the one wolf I've seen in Wisconsin was crossing a state highway barely a mile as the crow flies from Andy's Acres, the cabin where my friends and I spend a goodly portion of the grouse and woodcock season. I have, however, cut the tracks of a number of wolves over the years (on one occasion just yards from where I was camped), found their scat, even heard their hair-raising howls. And I've been aware, in a distant, back-of-my-mind way, that wolves inhabit some of the same places where I turn loose Tina, my beautiful little setter, to search for birds. T he question is, what's the risk? It's a question anyone who hunts birds in wolf country needs to ask. I don't know, however, that a definitive answer exists or even an entirely satisfactory one. The starting point for any discussion, though, is this: Given the opportunity and the right set of circumstances, wolves will attack dogs and, more often than not, kill them. (Let's also state for the record that, outside of Jack London novels, the dog has never been born that is a fighting match for a wolf, much less a pack of them.) Wolves are extremely territorial, hard-wired to defend their turf against canine interlopers. They're also fiercely protective of their young, meaning that they're programmed to confront anything that's perceived as a threat to their offspring or simply wanders too close to their den. Putting two and two together, the bottom line is that a dog that comes into contact with wild wolves has automatically put itself in harm's way. Any time a wolf sees, smells, or otherwise detects the presence of a dog, it triggers a measure of malign intent. Some say that wolves harbor an innate hatred of dogs for abandoning the pack, sucking up to humans, and cravenly submitting to domestication. The unbridled savagery wolves display when they target a dog is almost enough to make you believe that piece of folklore. You'd swear they were exacting revenge. But here's the thing: By all accounts, official and anecdotal, the incidence of wolf attacks on gundogs is incredibly low. Among the three states mentioned here, Wisconsin maintains far-and-away the most detailed and comprehensive record of wolf–dog interactions. These records date back to 1985, and in the 30 years since there hasn't been a single fatal attack on a gundog in a hunting situation. While it's true that several sporting dogs, including Labs and German shorthairs, have been killed by wolves, they've been the result of what are described as "non-hunting depredations." These incidents typically take place near the homes of dog owners who live in remote, wooded areas. The owner lets the dog out to exercise or relieve itself, and wolves ambush it. More often than not, these attacks happen at night. Wisconsin's statistics for hounds killed by wolves, however, are staggering. As I'm writing this in early February, the number stands at 226 and counting. Bear hounds— Plotts, Walkers, blueticks, and the like—account for the majority of these incidents, although hounds running coyotes and bobcats have been targeted as well. Even a few rabbit-hunting beagles have been picked off. Why are hounds at such vastly greater risk of attack than bird dogs? Well, the biggest factor appears to be human proximity. Hounds may follow a track for miles, putting significant distance between themselves and their handlers. With the human element and the caution it engenders thus removed from the scene, wolves are much more likely to respond aggressively to canine intrusion. It's believed, too, that wolves may interpret the baying of hounds as a kind of challenge, adding fuel to the fire of their territorial behavior. We grouse and woodcock hunters, in contrast, stay in much closer contact with our dogs (in theory, anyway) and make a lot more noise. We crash through the woods, we toot our whistles, we holler at our dogs and our hunting partners, and we even touch off our smokepoles on occasion. It tends to resemble a moving rodeo—but it has the same effect on wolves, apparently, as the wail of a police siren on a teenage beer bash. R od Lein, a guide, professional gundog trainer, and long- time field-trialer from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, has most likely spent as much time chasing bird dogs through grouse and woodcock covers of the Upper Midwest as anyone. "I've honestly never had a problem with wolves," Rod said in response to my query. "In fact, I don't know anyone with bird dogs who has. I'm aware that they take a toll on hounds, and that they inhabit some of the areas where I run my pointers, but I've just never had a problem. "Having said that, I know of two dogs, both setters, that were killed by bears. If the dogs hadn't been wearing beeper collars, their owners never would have found them." Just to put a little perspective on this, the current wolf populations of Minnesota, the UP, and Wisconsin, respectively, are around 2,400, 600, and 800 animals. The respective bear populations? Try 10,000 to 15,000; 13,500-17,000; and 20,000 to 25,000.