When she was about ten, my grandmother, who was yet, years later, to fight at the frontline - no more, no less - in WWII - when she was just a little girl of around ten, she met a wolf. At the time, she thought he was a stray dog. She sat with him for about half an hour, patted him, cuddled him, and talked to him: Where are your owners, beautiful doggie? Why did they leave you? Where do you live? It was only years later that, upon seeing pictures of wolves, shed realised who that doggie had been. Only years later had she realised that shed spent half an hour just... cuddling a wolf. Goodbye, my best, best, best friend!
Posted on: Tue, 09 Sep 2014 13:55:00 +0000