The Sweetest Wolf

The sweetest wolf I ever knew gave his life for love.

Wolves don't generally give their lives for love, because giving your life for love is actually kind of silly, and wolves aren't silly... very often. But this particular wolf was a bit silly. His name was Slipstream Thundercloud the Wolf, (That's the human translation--in Wolvish it's pronounced "Frrghnrf".) and he was indeed a silly, noble wolf.

Most people have heard about the Christmas Miracle of 1914, in which during World War 1, up and down the trenches along both sides of the Flanders Front, English and German soldiers put down their weapons and met and sang in the field between as temporary friends.

But what most people don't know is that this wonderful scene of brotherly love was actually instigated by none other than Slipstream Thundercloud the Wolf. See, Slipstream Thundercloud the Wolf knew that English and German men shared at least one common joy--shooting wolves in the ass with bullets. And so in the name of love, though it meant certain death, Slipstream Thundercloud the Wolf appeared in the bitter cold of a Flanders early dawn, and trotted the torn, black ground between the lines and allowed the men from either side to shoot him in the ass.

"Well blimey." Came the astonished cry from the English side. "I say there old Krauts, you blokes like shooting wolves in the arse too?"

"Ja you Limey Richards, we very much like shoot vulf in auhst! Unt you also we sees."

"Indeed old chaps, indeed we do. Say, do you lads like brandy?"

"Ja!!! Unt do you like strudel?"

"That's like a crumpet with honey, right?"

Joy and peace soon arose from there. (For a day or two anyway.) And they owed it all to a wolf; a sweet wolf. Sure, he was also a silly wolf--but mostly sweet.

And in the end, do you know what the problem with wars today is? I'll tell you--not enough wars today are fought in the freezing mud and snow. That's what Latigo Flint thinks anyway. 'Cause it's just difficult to be anything but grumpy and mean when you're hot and sweaty and covered with bugs or sand all the time. But sit in a freezing, muddy trench long enough and pretty soon all you want to do is hold someone... be held yourself... and drink brandy 'til spring.

I guess it just comes down to the fact that most of us are sometimes right and sometimes wrong--we don't kill children and we like shooting at wolves. And for all our differences and faults, we've got at least that much in common.




(By the way, you're a bit dumber for having read all this, and there's nothing you can do about that now. Be thankful it wasn't longer.

I'm a sweet, silly wolf and I'm the grin in the dark. Booze is my inquisitive crowbar, but don't tell my mom.)