LET’S SAY IT’S 1980 IN CALGARY, ALBERTA AND THE PRAIRIE SKY DARK IN THE early evening is clouded with November storm. Snow licks a hospital parking lot clean. Imagine air so cold you can see breath or lose an ungloved pinky. In this scene, a bleary-eyed wolf in a blue sweatshirt pulls out of a stall. Accompanying him is a lamb, his wife of only a couple months, who holds a wailing infant close to her curly black fleece in the front passenger seat. Let’s say this is an old story, a parable even, about what happens after a wolf woos a lamb, about how endings are sewn into beginnings, about how it’s hard to tell the difference between the wails of humans and the cries of animals.
Checking over…