The Wolf King and the Princess


I am the Wolf King. I fear No Human. I am strong. I am fearless.

But I shake like a leaf in a windstorm every time Woman Who Feeds Me brings the Tiny Human into our house.

The first time that it happened, I was unprepared. I am used to the usual Humans Who Visit. They are loud. They march boldly through our door and up our stairs. They rub my ears and say, “Good dog!”

They smell like sweat and digested meats and, often, of fermented fruits.   I know them.  I do not fear these humans.

But the first time that Woman Who Feeds Me came in the door with a small package in her arms, my warning alarms went off as if I had stumbled into a skunk den. I approached Woman and tried to sniff the package.

“Alert! Alert! Alert!”

The tiny package moved on its own, and made strange squeaky sounds. As I approached to smell it, I was rewarded with a lovely whiff of poop. But the humans who were holding the package made me back away and sit down.

“Good boy,” they said. So I sat.  But I was on alert. I did not know what the small poopie package was made of. I did not know if it was human, or if it was prey.

So I sat. But I had my eye on it.

Some number of days went by. I began to feel accustomed to the package. It arrived every morning, and was passed into the arms of Woman Who Feeds Me. She made strange cooing noises when she held it. She completely ignored me when it was at our house. Of course, she also ignored Man Who Walks Me, so I didn’t feel all that bad.

After a few days, I had smelled the poopie package often often enough now to know that it was human. It smelled of human sweat and human poop and human skin.

It was a human. But it was a really strange human. It did not move around the house. It did not pat me or feed me or rub my ears. It said no words that I understood. It never said “cheese” or “come” or “lie down.”

It was very strange. But for some reason that I do not understand, I found myself compelled to protect it.

I am, as you know, the Wolf King. Mighty and Proud and Strong. I bow to no man. (OK, except for Man Who Walks Me. He is so so sweet! I love him to pieces. He drops ham on the floor when he makes his lunch. Need I say more?)

Anyway, I will never forget the first time that Woman Who Feeds Me left the Tiny Poopie Human alone in a basket in our living room. She went down the hall.  She. Left. That. Tiny. Human.

I was aghast. I looked at Tiny Poopie Human. I smelled it. I walked quickly down the hall to the bedroom where Woman Who Feeds Me was doing something with a toothbrush. “Woof!” I said sternly. “Woof, woofie, woof, woof.”

Woman Who Feeds Me looked at me with a frown, as if she did not understand me when I clearly said, “Get your butt back to the living room! That tiny human needs someone to protect it and I don’t even have opposable thumbs!”

It has been a long and daunting few months.

I now know that Tiny Poopie Human is a female. It can move now. It scuttles along the floor like a sweet smelling crab and it grabs ahold of the fur on my neck. Tiny Poopie Human now pulls itself upright, holding onto my fur for balance.

I do not move. I do not protest.

I am the Wolf King.

It is my solemn duty, as the guardian of our family, to protect the Tiny Poopie Human and to keep it safe.

God knows that Woman Who Feeds Me won’t be doing that. She actually leaves us alone while she does pointless things like leaving her pee in a ceramic bowl.


These humans need me. Luckily, I am happy to yip and yowl every single time she leaves me alone with the crawling, fur pulling, babbling little bundle of poop and milk that spends all day with us.

I shudder to think what these humans would do without me.



9 thoughts on “The Wolf King and the Princess

  1. Glad to see the Wolf King is back. I’ve missed him….more stories please as his friendship with Ellie flourishes! And, yes, it would make a great children’s book!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s