I’ve never owned a wolf, but they run wild in my dreams.

There’s something primal about their golden eyes piercing through twilight, their social bonds stronger than steel.

Wolves remind me that family isn’t always about blood – it’s about the pack you choose, the ones who stand beside you when winter winds howl.

Sometimes I watch the huskies in our park and think about wolves – their wild cousins who hunt under moonlight and run with their packs through distant forests.

But that’s just a beautiful thought. Wolves belong in the wild, and that’s exactly right.

Someday I’ll have my own husky here – the closest echo to a wolf these suburban paths can hold. Not quite the same as a wild pack under moonlight, but real. Possible.

For now, I walk. And when those blue-eyed huskies pass by, I think of wolves.