Oh, wolves. Glorious, majestic, terrifying wolves. Today, I was neck-deep in a supernatural novel, the kind where your eyebrows involuntarily arch because, surprise surprise, there are wolves. Not just your run-of-the-mill, howl-at-the-moon wolves, but the maybe-they’re-actually-part-time-humans kind. Werewolves, if you will. Naturally, this got my brain doing cartwheels and somersaults and perhaps a little interpretive dance about wolves in general you know, the real ones, the ones who don’t moonlight as brooding supernatural heartthrobs. Just wait for a post later talking about how wolves are going to be in some of my books/novellas and why. I can so see it happening.

Fascination with wolves is something I don’t even recall beginning it feels like it’s always just been there, a quiet undercurrent in the background of my life. They’re captivating creatures, and honestly, the closest I’ve come to channeling that into my daily world is my dream of owning a Siberian Husky. I mean, it’s the closest you can get to wolf genetics in the domestic dog world without, you know, moving into the wilderness and trying to befriend a pack. But oh, how I must watch myself when shopping! If it has wolves on it books, trinkets, art you better believe it catches my eye. Books especially. Reading is one of my favorite pastimes, though perhaps I should put the book down occasionally or so I’m told well you know it is either about wolf shifters or that I have read one in the past week. Perhaps I should reflect on each book I read here and what I thought of it. That might be a cool theme.

And here’s the thing: I don’t just read about wolves. I’ve seen them. I’ve heard them. Living close enough to their habitat while in the city means I sometimes get to experience what I can only describe as their hauntingly beautiful howls floating through the air. It’s one thing to read about their wild cries in novels, but hearing it in real life? Goosebumps. Absolute goosebumps. If I could bottle that sound and keep it for stormy nights, I would. It’s like nature’s most perfect melody, simultaneously enchanting and spine-chilling. It has to be a pretty quiet night as far as a major city can be, so I can hear them from time and for some reason I find comfort in it to.

Now, back in school, anytime writing assignments came up, wolves always seemed to find their way into my work. It wasn’t forced or intentional it just felt natural, like they belonged there. If the prompt was broad enough, trust me, wolves made an appearance. My connection to them isn’t just admiration; it’s something deeper, something instinctual. It’s as though they’ve left a pawprint on my soul, a bond I can’t explain with logic but feel with every fiber of my being. They’re not just animals to me; they’re living, breathing embodiments of the wild, of freedom, of something untamed yet profoundly connected to the world around us.

So here I am, spiraling into wolf trivia, particularly about the ones chilling in the Rocky Mountains, because why not? Chaos is my middle name. (Actually, it’s not. But wouldn’t that be something?) The Rocky Mountain wolves are like the VIPs of the forest floor, strutting around as if they own the place. Their habitats are a masterpiece of rugged wilderness sprawling forests, open meadows, jagged peaks. And somewhere in there, tiny rodents are probably quaking in their little rodent boots.

Speaking of rodents, these wolves are basically seasonal menu enthusiasts. Imagine scrolling through Uber Eats and suddenly deciding you’re in the mood for elk. That’s essentially how Rocky Mountain wolves operate. Winter? Elk and deer are on the menu. Summer? Smaller game like hares and beavers get the dubious honor of being dinner. Beavers. Can you believe it? The industrious architects of the woodland, outsmarted by a pack of overly clever carnivores.

And oh, the pack dynamics! It’s like a reality show, but infinitely cooler. You’ve got the alpha pair the Beyoncé and Jay-Z of the wolf world who run the operation. But here’s a twist: only one or two females in the pack typically get to have pups. It’s like wolf socialism. Everyone chips in to help raise the kiddos, but only the chosen few get to bring new life into the world. Who makes these rules? Is there a wolf council? A monthly pack meeting with minutes and refreshments? I need answers. Which means here comes a new rabbit hole.

Now, let’s get to the romance. Wolves with mates? You’d think, “Oh, they’re adorable, romantic, howling duets under the moonlight.” And sure, there’s that. But when a threat looms? Picture wolves turning into a ferocious tag-team duo, ready to obliterate anything that dares mess with their vibes. They’re like the superhero couple who doesn’t need fancy costumes or special powers just a good set of teeth and impeccable communication skills. I mean, if someone’s got your back while you’re growling at a bear, that’s love right there.

Speaking of bears, let’s talk size for a hot second. Wolves are not dainty creatures. The Rocky Mountain variety clock in at a jaw-dropping 80 to 150 pounds, depending on gender and sheer awesomeness. That’s bigger than your average golden retriever, and let me tell you, they are no fluff balls eager to fetch sticks. These are lethal, streamlined predators with paws that look like they’re made for stomping through snow and jaws that could probably crush a watermelon. Watermelons are lucky wolves don’t seem to fancy them.

Here’s where it gets even more chaotic. Different wolves across the globe have quirks cultural differences, if you will. Rocky Mountain wolves are rugged, self-assured wilderness dwellers. Arctic wolves, though? They’re vibing in icy tundra, probably side-eyeing polar bears. Ethiopian wolves? Oh, they’re navigating high-altitude plateaus like mountain goats. And don’t even get me started on the maned wolves of South America, who look like they’re auditioning for a role in a fashion-forward jungle catwalk. But back to the Rockies, because this rabbit hole is already deep, and I think I’m starting to hear echoing wolf howls in my head.

I haven’t even covered the social rituals, the communication methods, or the sheer poetry of their howls each one distinct, like snowflakes in wolfish form. But alas, my brain is already on the verge of imploding from the chaotic beauty of it all. Wolves in the Rocky Mountains, folks. Majestic chaos wrapped in fur. Someone should really thank them for existing. Preferably not in person, though. Because teeth. Lots of teeth.

I get the feeling I will be writing about wolves today, now that the information is circling my head I am starting to dive into this amazing world. What is an animal with which you are almost borderline obsessed? What do you think of the random idea of me writing about whatever book I just finished from time to time; I promise no medical studies shall be included, it is a pretty random idea so please let me hear your thoughts?