Stray dog, nosing around all sorts of back alleys and empty lots. Searching. Sniffing out any patch of wilderness she can find. Searching. Looking to play. Looking to run wild. Bigger horizons than these grey buildings allow.
Everything has its edges, she finally found the end of this caged-in place.
Wide open, thick forests, cool crevices to sniff out, explore. Falling in with the wolves. Edgy, fearful, nothing smells like home – hot and wild and bloody. Fresh and alive, rank and messy. Fearful. Too weak, too small, too much like prey, they’re going to catch her out, turn on her at any moment… the grift up, her wolf-con revealed, the fall out savage. Fearful, ears back, tail low.
The strange eventually becomes familiar, she gets used to these smells. Ears up, tail waging, a playful nip at these big wolves. They turn on her, nip back, bite and claw and tussle. Teeming rollling pack of fur – wolf/dog dog/wolf. Ball of wild wrestling.
Roughed up an panting, she breaks free of the pack. Tongue lolling, trotting to a quiet space as the game breaks up for the night. She stinks of wolf now, her smell no longer of city streets and garbage. The scent of the pack, her pack. She finds a sheltered glade, turns in cirlces, curls up in the long grass.
Tail flopped over nose, ear twitches… then a paw. Dreaming wolf dreams.