Wolf

An English paper describing what animal I am most like...

Wolf

        I awoke to the fall chill and cold rock beneath me. The jagged cave curled above me. Twilight had grasped the Bluff in her fingers, and sporatic swirls of chilly wind flung against it. Suddenly, the Delta was pierced by a howl. An answer followed. I was fully awakened and raced, adrenaline laced, all the way home. 

        Besides cats, wolves are my favorite animals. If I were to be an animal, it would definitely be this creature. People tend to be in terror of them because of their historical reputation. However, they are simply misunderstood. 

        In appearance, I am rather wolf-like already. My blue-grey eyes are large, encompassing pupils that people consistently raise their eyebrows at. They are cautiously observant, yet spontaneously explode into catastrophic merriment. My head bears neat little ears. They slant to capture sounds and voices. As a child, I spoiled hide-and-seek games because I could hear each player's location. Then there is the matter of my nose. It is long and points, snout-like, out from my face. The tip snaps up at the end like the resolve of a wolf's nose. Even my body proportions out correctly. It has a solid core and long, thin limbs capped by large feet. 

        My outlook corresponds with my awkward, adolescent figure. I am trapped. Discovering my dependent puppyhood becomes less frightening than my first hunt. Suddenly, life is a serious survival circus. Alpha males. Alpha females. Middle class adults. Young. Scapegoats. Where do I belong in the hiaerchy of the pack?

        One of the greatest misconceptions about wolves is that they are solitary creatures. While the occasional lone wolf does exist, most are extremely social. I often feel like I am stereotyped as a lone wolf, dark and unpredictable. Actually the reverse is true. Granted, I revere my personal space, thoughts and creative flow. Sometimes I wander into the pine trees alone. When the alphas are too domineering or a snarl-fest ensues, I prefer to slip away. However, my most sparkling moments are a result of running with the pack. My pack brings out the best and the worst in me. I am generally easygoing until failure strikes. Then I detonate with searing rapidness. The mess is bandaged by the winter snow. On the other hand, I will tear out the throats of anyone who harms my beloved family.

         Packs generally  consist of six to seven members. As such, I prefer small groups of intimate friends to seething masses of strangers. I rarely love my fallible species as a whole, but those who earn my trust also receive intense loyalty. I love few, yet feel deeply.

        They say that he who lives with wolves will howl at the moon. Most of my peers are quizzical at the lure it has for me. The full moon is an anticipated event. It is tradition to run under it--- two awkward legs glinting with silver fuel. That is why I twinkle in the shadows and grin at the stars. Exhausted, I'll sneak into bed--- wonderfully alive. 

Author's Note

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