I have never in my life wished teleportation existed more than I do right now.
Girl, stop! So we ordering Thai food or what?
By Sam Jarvis
I’m always cold. Sure, it’s a girl thing. But it’s not so much that I’m cold in bed, my frigid feet snuggling up against a warm partner. Or that I’m cold in the office, the thermostat seemingly always lower than it should be. I’m more so cold because it’s fucking snowing outside and Alaska is freezing as shit. Fur or no fur, I’m ready for bikini season.
My pack is wonderful. I love my family, I love our domain. We have 20 square miles, but our den is homey. We roam our territory day in and day out trying to put food on the table for the kids. I mean pups. Mmm, I could go for a kid right now. Small goats are rare here but with a little lemon and pepper it would make a fine dinner for a school night.
There are dangers, but the men piss all over everything so they don’t have to murder the shit out of other wolves that come into our space. Do you know how many fictional loads of laundry it takes to get blood out of your husband’s muzzle after he’s fucked up a rival wolf? Make up wipes don’t do the trick, that’s for sure.
Wolves mate for life. But if my husband got killed or something, I would have to be with someone else. I wouldn’t have another option, really. And that’s the problem. There is not a lot of choice for us women wolves, and I’d like that to change.
I’m in a fucking dope ass wolf pack, okay? Like, we are the shit up here in Alaska. Oh, you’re a brown bear? You might as well be Lennie from Of Mice and Men (which is a wonderful read, by the way. I have it on my Kindle.). Wolves are different. We’re super awesome. Would you rather have a fat ass bear on your sweatshirt, or a sleek, mystical wolf? Right. You get me.
But even so, I am left with the feeling that as a female I can’t have it all. Every year when I get pregnant, I have to stay in the den until the pups are born, and even then I have to rely on my husband to bring home the bacon (or moose, deer, sheep, some bison burgers. Depends on the night.) And while it is lovely that he does so, I want to work too. Why do I HAVE to stay home with the children? I had a job before I got pregnant. I’m just as good at draining the life out of things as he is. Yet the second you’re knocked up it’s like none of that matters, and you have to just concede to being a mother and ONLY a mother. Can’t I still be a terrifying blood-hungry wolf, who just happens to have offspring?
Sure, there is a lack of babysitters amongst the pack. Not a lot of bubble gum chewing teens texting their BFFs while watching Pretty Little Liars. I understand that. But I guess I’d like it if my husband helped out too. He could spend a day in the den while I go out and piss on shit. I want to show everyone that we aren’t just baby making machines. We’re strong and powerful. Our purpose in the workforce doesn’t end when we get pregnant with a litter of small baby wolves.
So let’s fight, and prove that we can be anything we want to be. CEOs, athletes, predatory mammals! Don’t let a dominant male tell you shit, girl. You do you.
Because as the moon rises above us, its light shining onto our glistening grey fur and we howl into the darkness, it’s important to remember one thing. Even if things never change in our pack, no matter what, we are still (quite literally) badass bitches.
Read more of my short humor pieces here.