Wolf Dreams

My dog is pensive at night. All day she is a happy go lucky clown, and a seemingly dumbass goof ball scaredy cat, but at night she becomes still and she lays out on the deck at the end, staring into the night. Sometimes I think I know what she longs for, as I dream of it myself, but sometimes I think that she is a wise old woman trapped in the body of my faithful friend. I think that she is much smarter and braver than she lets on. I dream sometimes of turning into a wolf in the night, in the dream I think that I wake up and my feet itch and my hands and soon it spreads all over me, and I toss in my bed and cry out because it itches and hurts and my nails grow long and sharp and black hair grows out of my skin my legs shrink and reform themselves and my arms grow longer and thinner turning into strong front legs and paws, my nose takes off from my head and rips itself into a sleek muzzle with a wet dog nose on the end, my ears grow bigger and my hearing increases, my eyes begin to shine in the dark as I pick up the sent of something full of terror in the still air of my room a long bushy tail sprouts out of my lower back just above my butt, its all very painful but soon it is over and there is a wolf in my bed ripping out of the comforters. I sit for a moment on the mussed up bed and stare at the stillness. Then I hear a call through the open window, a howl from the mountain, long and lonely and full of passion. In 2 leaps I am off my bed and through the window screen, my legs are full of so much power that I simply run with everything in my for a mile or 2 before I stop to listen for the call, there it is again through the darkness that my eyes can now pierce so easily, through the woods, its ravenous now, a need is expressed in that call that only I can understand I am off again to meet with the pack, they sit on the mountain waiting for me to come, I run and run and see him, the great white leader he is as white as a puff of storm cloud with eyes as black as the sea. And I stand there for a moment in my black scruff-ness accessing his mood and his beautiful stance there in the moonlight. Then we hunt, the entire pack turning its collective nose to the wind, we smell food, an elk or a moose we are not sure yet but the sent of musk is in the air and we can almost hear the blood of the beast pumping in our ears, we run as no human could ever run, we run until we are one with the movement until it seems we must run forever or die of the longing. We fly over land as if we were made for only one thing. To run. When we find the elk he puts off a gallant fight, and the human part of me regrets having to slay such a beautiful creature with such a will to live, but the blood lust is stronger and the pack needs to eat, to feed the cubs they have hidden in the caves and under the trees of the mountain. We corner the animal in a small copse of trees and surround it, but no one attacks yet, we stand for moments relishing the overpowering smell of fear, like an appetizer before the main course. It is frantic and can be deadly when it gets so, good, more sportsman like, not to mention more fun. But still we wait, some of the younger ones wriggle with pent up anticipation but we all wait for a signal. The white wolf stands apart eyes glittering as they gather force and with one motion we all set upon the Elk. Two jump for the flank ripping open muscle and causing the beast to shriek in a frenzied scream, it turns on one of the young wolves and smashes one of its front hooves down into her face, she is killed instantly but soon replaced by 2 more, we do not have time to mourn in the midst of a kill. I watch for a moment waiting for my time to jump in. it is like an intricate dance, this type of sport, you have to know just when to strike in a harmonious manner so that we don’t get in each others way, and there it is, 3 wolves at the back have harried the poor beast enough to make it rear onto its hind legs. I lunge for the throat leaping high into the air to reach the jugular, my jaws snap close, sharp canines sinking deep into fur and flesh, I can feel the vibration through my teeth as the animal screams its last and exhales its breath, it falls to the ground closely missing a foolish young wolf. I grip the throat still and jerk my head back until I strip a piece from the neck. When it is all over we carefully eat all the meat and take it back to be regurgitated for the pups, I don’t have to give up my share to any of the pups because none of the current batch are mine, occasionally I have a mate in these dreams, sometimes it is the White leader, but he takes many mates, through the seasons and the dreams, I like to suppose I am his favorite though. In those times it is a wild thing to experience wolf sex, even in a dream. It leaves you sweating and gripping the sheets. These dreams always vary, sort of like installments, I never have the same one twice though they usually start out the same with the changing and then the call to arms. Sometimes I freak myself out, sometimes I wake up and taste blood in my mouth, or think for a moment that I have a tail, I even felt once that my teeth were sharper than normal. I think my dog knows of my dreams, and I think that on nights when she stays out on the deck looking into the night, she is longing to join my pack, and she is watching over me from the house, sure to wake me should I get lost in my dream world. She is definitely a mysterious dog.1