British philosopher Isaiah Berlin observed, “Freedom for the wolves has often meant death to the sheep.” Or, in Colorado, death to 2024’s spring calves. Let’s face it, these killings aren’t instances of apex predators culling the weakest members from wild herds of elk and deer as promised by proponents for wolf re-introduction. After more than 30 generations of cattle grazing without wolves, mothers have long lost the memory of protecting their calves against nighttime predators, leaving a lone calf as a ready meal for a prowling wolf. All the happy talk about restoring the primitive strengths of Colorado’s alpine and prairie ecosystems presumes wolves are being released into a 19th century wilderness. To the contrary, they’re thrust into an Anthropocene turmoil of fences, roads and constant human presence.

Coyotes have proven adept at accommodating themselves to modern civilization. Though they nab the occasional stray cat or small dog, they know to steer clear of people and their guns. It will require several decades for wolves to adapt to the threats posed by the true apex predator in their environment — man, the hunter. Aside from the nostalgic and romantic attraction of a howling wolf standing alone, throat uplifted on a moonlit prairie, what are the ethics of releasing these animals into a world they cannot comprehend?

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Being torn to pieces by a ravenous wolf pack seems a remarkably unpleasant demise, even in the case of creatures otherwise destined for a trip to the slaughterhouse. To reacquaint yourself with the truth of this primordial terror, I recommend Jack London’s short story, “To Build a Fire.” My grandfather, who traveled to the Yukon gold fields in 1901 as a mining engineer, first read this story to my brother and I nearly 70 years ago. I can still conjure up the goosebumps I experienced then — imagining the ravenous eyes of encircling wolves reflecting flames about to be snuffed out by falling snow.

For all the attention directed toward the declining health of our global environment, we tend to overlook humanity’s place within ecosystems — viewing ourselves as remaining somewhat outside the environments we inhabit. While working on the challenge of isolating radioactive wastes from the biosphere during the 1990s, I speculated on creating a new word into that debate: “ecosense,” linked to common sense, but encompassing an awareness of our integral role in shaping lived environments.

ec•o•sense (noun) 1. Perception of the symbiotic interaction

that operates between biological and cultural systems; also, an

appreciation of the essentially organic character and evolutionary

principles governing change within both systems. 2. The

recognition that cultural technologies are the product of

thousands of years of historical and scientific momentum,

while biological habitats represent the results of natural selection

operating over millions of years. 3. An understanding that both

cultural and biological ecosystems are relatively brittle and

prone to sudden collapse under stress. 4. Awareness that systemic

resilience proves fragile against invasive forces, especially

pollutants. 5. Understanding that the maintenance of symbiotic

balance within bio-cultural relationships demands repeated,

conscious socio-economic adjustments in response to changes

in environmental indicators. Etymology: A word intended to

capture the dynamic that rapid or drastic changes in social and

cultural patterns, however beneficial or damaging in the near term,

are likely to precipitate equally powerful forces whose consequences

are unpredictable and that may demand subsequent interventions.

— antonym ecosenseless

Colorado is distinguished by having the longest constitution of any state. This is partly a result of unique circumstances related to the ease of amending the underlying document. Consequently, everything from a prohibition on bear trapping to the byzantine provisions of TABOR have found their way into the document. In a classic instance of slamming the barn door shut once the horses have fled, the legislature has made it increasingly difficult, and signature thresholds more demanding, for citizen referendums. The perverse result is that the opportunity for citizen-initiated legislation has grown out of reach for grassroots activists. A recent estimate found it takes $2 million dollars just to reach the ballot.

This is, of course, no obstacle for powerful economic interests that can benefit from tinkering with Colorado’s economic rules. Thus, we have witnessed a decade of alcohol retailing initiatives on our ballots proposing to place beer, wine and, ultimately, liquor sales in grocery stores. Naturally, these campaigns were presented as unselfish concern for consumers — providing expanded “convenience.”

The predictable consequences included the demise of neighborhood retailers as mom-and-pop liquor stores closed their doors. Forty years ago, I was supervising the Denver Excise and Licenses Department. We discovered when a national chain can load a train at the Budweiser brewery in St. Louis (at the time), they could profitably resell discounted cases cheaper than small retailers could purchase them wholesale from a local distributor. No surprise then that the legislature is attempting to roll back liquor sales at groceries.

Trying to put this toothpaste back in the tube will fund new SUVs for half the corporate attorneys in Denver. Unspooling wolf introduction is likely to find its way to court as well, long before we have sufficient data to assess its merits. Term limits have reduced long-range thinking at the Capitol to eight years. No wonder the state’s road conditions rank down there alongside Mississippi and Arkansas, not to mention starting teacher salaries. Now we are considering the return of wolverines to the Rockies. I understand the natural affinity for vicious weasels among politicians, but maybe a deep breath and a little caution are called for.

Miller Hudson is a public affairs consultant and a former Colorado legislator.