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- St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves
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They had ostracized the local wolves by having sometimes-thumbs, and regrets, and human children. (Their condition skips a generation.) Our pack grew up in a green purgatory. We couldn't keep up with the purebred wolves, but we never stopped crawling. We spoke a slab-tongued pidgin in the cave, inflected with frequent howls. Our parents wanted something better for us; they wanted us to get braces, use towels, be fully bilingual. When the nuns showed up, our parents couldn't refuse their offer.

That night I waited until my sisters were asleep. Then I slunk into the closet and practiced the Sausalito two-step in secret, a private mass of twitch and foam. The main commandment of wolf life is Know Your Place, and that translated perfectly. Being around other humans had awakened a slavish-dog affection in us. An abasing, belly-to-the-ground desire to please. As soon as we realized that others higher up in the food chain were watching us, we wanted only to be pleasing in their sight.
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This concise study guide includes plot summary; character analysis; author biography; study questions; historical context; suggestions for further reading; and much more. For any literature project, trust Short Stories for Students for all of your research needs. A Study Guide for Karen Russell's "St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves", excerpted from Gale's acclaimed Short Stories for Students. Florida as symbol and myth is the subject of this collection of new critical essays exploring fiction written by female Floridian authors.
I ignored her and continued down the hall. I only had four more hours to perfect the Sausalito. By that stage, I was no longer certain how the pack felt about anything. We sang at the chapel annexed to the Halfway House every morning.
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In a flash of white-hot light, my months at St. Lucy's had vanished, and I was just a terrified animal again. As if of their own accord, my feet started to wiggle out of my shoes. Mouth shut, I gasped, staring down at my naked toes, mouthshutmouthshut. The brothers didn't smell like our brothers anymore.

We couldn't make our scent stick here; it made us feel invisible. Still, the pack seemed to be adjusting on the same timetable. The advanced girls could already alternate between two speeds, "slouch" and "amble." Almost everybody was fully bipedal. One night I came back early from the closet and stumbled on Jeanette. She was sitting in a patch of moonlight on the windowsill, reading from one of her library books.
Russell-StLucysHome111.pdf - From the collection of short...
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"Congratulations!" the nuns would huff. "Being human is like riding this bicycle. Once you've learned how, you'll never forget." Mirabella would run after the bicycles, growling out our old names. "Hwraa! Gwarr! Trrrrrrr!" We pedaled faster. After that, I spent less time with Mirabella.
We puddled up the yellow carpet of old newspapers. But later, when we returned to the bedroom, we were dismayed to find all trace of the pack musk had vanished. We sprayed and sprayed every morning; and every night, we returned to the same ammonium eradication.
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Of the nave, glass shadows that reminded me of my mother. The mother, I'd think, struggling to conjure up a picture. A black shadow, running behind the watery screen of pines. The purebred girls were making mistakes on purpose, in order to give us an advantage. "I SAY KING ME!" and Felicity meekly complied.
At this point, we'd had six weeks of lessons, and still nobody could do the Sausalito but Jeanette. The nuns decided we needed an inducement to dance. They announced that we would celebrate our successful rehabilitations with a Debutante Ball. There would be brothers, ferried over from the Home for Man-Boys Raised by Wolves. There would be a photographer from the Gazette Sophisticate. There would be a three-piece jazz band from West Toowoomba, and root beer in tiny plastic cups.
I wore my best dress and brought along some prosciutto and dill pickles in a picnic basket. We crunched through the fall leaves in silence, and every step made me sadder. "I'll wait out here," the woodsman said, leaning on a blue elm and lighting a cigarette. The band from West Toowoomba had quietly packed their instruments into black suitcases and were sneaking out the back. The boys had fled back toward the lake, bow ties spinning, suspenders snapping in their haste.

Create a free account to view details including email addresses. "The time has come to do the Sausalito," Sister Maria announced, beaming into the microphone. "Every sister grab a brother!" She switched on Clyde's industrial flashlight, struggling beneath its weight, and aimed the beam in the center of the room.
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