My friends told me not to approach the dog. They told me the dog was not to be trusted. And yes, the dog had big teeth. Big teeth and a snarl. And some sort of foamy drool dripping from its mouth. But I thought, “This dog looks lost. It needs a home. And really, I like this dog’s honesty. It’s not trying to hide the fact that it has sharp, deadly teeth, or that it is ill, or that it is consumed with rage. That’s refreshing.”

My friends weren’t buying it. They were all “Uh, actually, that dog might be a wolf. The head, the eyes, the fur, the overall body size – yes, definitely, that is a wolf. Oh my god, dude, absolutely do not get anywhere near that wolf.”

Suddenly my friends are a bunch of wolf experts? You know what they aren’t experts in? China’s currency manipulation. Border security. America’s crumbling military.

They pointed to the sticky red tracks it was leaving on the ground. “There’s literally a blood trail. It probably just killed and ate something. Or someone. Please stay away from it.”

They saw a monster, but I saw a dog that wasn’t afraid to get the job done. I approached it slowly to gain its trust. I gently slipped the collar around its neck. I carefully attached the leash. And then I led it home.

And OK, yeah – the first thing it did when it walked through my front door was viciously maul my wife. That wasn’t a great start. I’ll concede that point. And then it turned on my young daughter. And yeah, that was a savage, relentless attack. The screams were something I’ll never forget for as long as I live. And while I tended to the two of them, my new dog raced around the house, pissing in every room and gnawing and tearing at random things. It seemed hell-bent on making my home unlivable, and I was powerless to stop it. Just extraordinary, really, the swiftness and brutality of its rage-fueled rampage. My life won’t ever be the same, that’s for sure. But when you decide to be a pet owner, there are bound to be some bumps along the road. That’s just part of the pet experience.

Update: Long story short, the genetic tests came back, and it turns out my dog really is a wolf. So that’s on me, OK? I’m owning that. And my wife and daughter no longer live here – they need a level of round-the-clock care that I just don’t have the training to provide. So that’s unfortunate. But guys, I’m still giving my new wolf the benefit of the doubt. For an outsider, it’s done a pretty good job of acclimating to life in my home. Sure, I’m dealing with the occasional shit stains, a lot of howling, and also it bit me again just this morning. And yeah, it won’t play fetch, and I’ve had to undergo a grueling regimen of rabies shots in my stomach, and it seems to hate people in general.

But ultimately what I’m trying to say is that adopting this rabid wolf wasn’t a mistake. I mean, a friend of mine adopted a Bulldog, and it has hip dysplasia. Can you even imagine?



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