My Pomeranian is the Alpha?
By Kate Lorraine
“Holy cow, are those wolves?” I gasped. “How did wolves get into a ski resort?” I left my things behind and started running.
It all started with a ski trip to Killington, Vermont. I was going down a particularly icy black diamond slope late at night when my pole snapped, and I went into a ravine. Next time I knew, I was laying on the ground and my Pomeranian, Peaty, was barking in my ear.
Peaty came everywhere with me. He was my therapy Pomeranian who was supposed to keep me from indulging in my scotch problem. But, from the beginning he was named after an ingredient in scotch so as you can see, he was pretty terrible at his job.
As the wolves surrounded me, eyeing me with their hungry yellow eyes, I grabbed Peaty and made a run for it. As I fled, I noticed there was a full moon in the sky and heard the sound of howling in the distance. Maybe they were calling for their friends to join in. I noticed that I was bleeding from a wound on my thigh. I must have scrapped myself on the rocks when I went down the side of the mountain. The blood would make it easier for them to track me.
Wolves will often track their prey in secret, awaiting signs of fatigue. How did I know that? Then I remembered - three years ago I had a one night stand with a guy I met at a train station. I was depressed after my father died and left me his company. The guy was hot. Smoking hot, and I had never done anything like that before. I mean, I literally banged him in the bathroom at Grand Central. I don’t even remember his name except he had beautiful honey-colored eyes. I made a comment about how his eyes were unnaturally striking, almost wolfish. He had made a joke about how he was going to corner like a caribou and buy me drinks until I gave him a date.
He got more than a date that night. Although I had slipped my business card into his pocket, I never saw him again. I vaguely remembered his name - it was Derek or something, I remember because it was like the guy in Anastasia which was playing on Broadway at the time.
Though, about a week later I found Peaty who helped me with my scotch problem which put an end to the one-night stands. As I backed up against a rocky ledge, I saw the wolves close in around me. There were four of them. They were huge and snarling. Peaty popped his head out of the designer backpack I carried him in. He was baring his teeth back. The little guy, he knew no fear.
As the wolf to my right advanced on me, Peaty jumped out of his bag and into the snow. He almost all but disappeared into whiteness. He looked like a little gold toupee sticking out of the ground. Then, with a deep, throaty growl, something truly crazy started to happen.
Peaty started to grow. His back arched and then slowly, he became taller. With every flicker of his magnificent, well-trimmed tail, he was growing longer and bigger. He was like one of those capsule sponges that you dropped into a bathtub that suddenly grew into a giant soggy sponge animal. Within seconds, Peaty stood before me, a full-size wolf with silvery gold hair.
I backed up against the edge in terror. I knocked a couple of pebbles fell from the ledge, and they fell hundreds of feet into an icy river down below. As the wolves advanced, Peaty sprang himself on the closest wolf. It was a skinny gray animal with patchy bald spots. As Peaty sank his teeth into the creature’s neck, it yelped and retreated. The two other wolves came on Peaty at once. One went for Peaty’s snout while the other sank its teeth into Peaty’s shoulder.
Once again, I was impressed by my dog’s finesse as he managed to sink his teeth into the first wolf’s head, nearly ripping its beady eyeball out. The second one, he managed to get his jaws into its soft underbelly. The last wolf growled and backed away meekly.
In the distance, I heard the howls of more wolves. Peaty was injured, and there were more wolfish compatriots on their way. Finally, my dog turned his head to me, and as he approached me, he didn’t shrink back into a Pomeranian. Instead, the hair melted away, and he slowly stood up on two legs. When he finally stood before me, he wasn’t a dog at all. He was a full grown man, standing naked in the snow.
I gasped felt my knees grow weak. He reached out and grabbed me by the waist, pressing me up against his naked manhood.
“Derek,” I said, as I finally understood why he had never called me back after our one night stand.