Gubbio the Wolf and the Saint

The day I met him, the little man in the brown robes with the big eyes and an even bigger heart. They say Saint Francis of Assisi could charm the birds from the trees, turn wolves into vegetarians, and negotiate a peace deal with your darkest nature. Well, I can confirm at least part of that.

Let me set the scene. Gubbio was my kingdom, well, our kingdom, if you asked the humans, but who was asking them? For months, I had been, shall we say, exploring my gastronomic options, which sometimes included livestock, and, yes, the occasional villager. Don’t give me that look. I’m not proud of it, but it was a matter of survival. Wolves gotta eat, right? Sure, I wasn’t exactly courteous about it, but it’s not like anyone had offered me a nice meal before. And they all seemed so surprised when I helped myself!

Now, to be fair, it wasn’t entirely my fault. Hunger makes you do strange things. It turns even the proudest wolf into a scavenger, into something monstrous. They called me the Lupo di Gubbio, the big bad wolf, but I hadn’t set out to terrorize the town. I was just, misunderstood. Still, the reputation stuck, and frankly, I leaned into it. If the people were going to treat me like a beast, why not act like one? It’s not like there was much room for negotiating when everyone you meet greets you with a scream and a pitchfork.

But all that changed the day he showed up. I was lurking around the forest edge, watching the village below, planning my next move, when I saw a group of men heading my way. Now, I’m used to seeing humans come after me. Usually, they have weapons and a poor sense of direction. But this time, there was something odd about the group, they weren’t carrying swords or torches. In fact, there was one fellow in front who wasn’t carrying anything except maybe a weird sense of optimism.

Saint Francis of Assisi. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that he was different. He wasn’t afraid of me, which is unusual when you’re a giant wolf. He didn’t even flinch when I growled. Actually, I think I growled out of habit, because honestly, something about him made me feel more embarrassed than fearsome.

Anyway, he walks up to me, with no hesitation, like we were old pals meeting up for coffee, and he says, get this, “Brother Wolf.”

Now, let’s take a moment to unpack that, shall we? Brother? He wasn’t wrong, I suppose, in the grand scheme of creation and all that. But no one had ever addressed me like that before. Usually, it was more along the lines of “beast,” “demon,” or my personal favorite, “foul servant of Satan.” So “Brother Wolf” was a bit of a shocker. It was like being scolded gently by your grandmother after you’ve knocked over her favorite vase. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t terrified, he was just… disappointed in me.

“Brother Wolf,” he said again, his voice so calm that even the trees seemed to stop rustling for a moment. “Why do you cause such trouble for these good people?”

Well, what was I supposed to say to that? I could hardly admit I had a hankering for roast lamb and the odd villager leg. Besides, it wasn’t exactly my fault. The people of Gubbio had pretty much ignored me when I was a regular wolf. They hunted all the game, and by the time winter rolled around, I was left with nothing. They made me into what I became, a starving, desperate predator. But of course, I didn’t have time to explain that, not in words anyway. So, I growled. Or at least, I tried to. What came out was more of a whimper, if I’m being honest.

And then, I did something I hadn’t done in months, I listened.

Francis, with his gentle voice and those eyes that seemed to see straight through to my soul, started explaining things to me. He told me that the people of Gubbio were afraid of me. I knew that already, but hearing it from him, it sounded different. Like he was pleading my case, as much for my sake as theirs. He didn’t see me as a monster, just… a troubled creature in need of a little mercy.

He spoke about God’s love for all creatures, even a beast like me, and how violence only leads to more violence. It was strange to hear those words directed at me. Here I was, the infamous wolf of Gubbio, and he was speaking to me as if I were no more dangerous than a lost sheep.

And then, he asked me a question, something no one had ever bothered to do before: “Why do you harm these people?”

Now, you have to understand, I’m a wolf. We’re not known for our nuanced moral reflections. But in that moment, something broke inside me. Maybe it was the way he asked, or maybe it was because he called me “brother” again, as if he genuinely wanted to know. So, I told him, in the only way I could, through a low, mournful howl. It wasn’t anger, it was hunger, loneliness, the weight of months spent in the cold, with no one to turn to. I wasn’t some evil creature bent on destruction; I was just… lost.

Francis nodded, like he understood everything I hadn’t said. Then, in what can only be described as the most bizarre negotiation in the history of wolf-kind, he proposed a solution. He turned to the men who had come with him, terrified, shaking, but too loyal to leave, and said, “The wolf is hungry. If we feed him, he will no longer harm us.”

Wait, what? Feed me? Did I hear that right? My stomach perked up at the idea, but my brain was still processing. Here was this saint, not trying to kill me, but actually offering to fix the situation. It seemed almost too good to be true. What kind of humans would agree to that?

But he wasn’t finished. Francis, ever the peacemaker, turned back to me and said, “Brother Wolf, I will make a pact with you. You will no longer harm the people of Gubbio, and in return, they will provide you with food.”

A peace treaty. Between a wolf and a town. My instincts told me to be wary. Humans, in my experience, weren’t exactly the most reliable creatures. But there was something about Francis, something that made me want to believe him. And for the first time in my life, I felt the strange pull of trust.

I bowed my head. Not because I was beaten, but because for the first time, I wasn’t treated like a monster. I had been seen, truly seen, for what I was, a creature in need. And if this man, this saint, was willing to trust me, then maybe, just maybe, I could trust him too.

The people of Gubbio were understandably skeptical at first. After all, the last time they had seen me, I wasn’t exactly practicing table manners. But Francis vouched for me. He told them that if they fed me, I would keep my end of the bargain.

And you know what? They did. They brought me food, actual food, not the kind that runs away when you chase it. Bread, meat, and all the trimmings. It was enough to make a wolf reconsider his life choices. I kept my part of the deal, and the town of Gubbio lived in peace.

I became something of a local celebrity, though I was still a bit rough around the edges. People would point and whisper, but it wasn’t out of fear anymore. They called me Lupo di Gubbio, sounds a lot classier than “man-eating menace,” don’t you think? I even got to be a part of the town’s life in a way I never had before. I was still a wolf, sure, but I wasn’t a monster.

And Saint Francis? I’ll never forget him. He saw past the fur, the fangs, and the reputation to the heart underneath. He called me “brother” when no one else would, and for the first time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I was more than the beast everyone thought I was. He didn’t change what I was, he reminded me of what I could be.

So here I am, the once-feared wolf of Gubbio, living peacefully among the humans I once terrorized, thanks to one little man in a brown robe who looked me in the eye and saw not a monster, but a brother in need of mercy.

I suppose there’s a lesson in there somewhere, about kindness, understanding, and maybe a dash of clever negotiation. But as for me, I’m just grateful I didn’t end up as someone’s pelt. Instead, I found my place. And sometimes, when the moon is full and the night is quiet, I let out a howl, not of hunger or fear, but of gratitude for the saint who called me brother.