The town dog catcher

When I lived in Cotati, I lived next-door to the town dog catcher who kept wolves in his backyard. Moonlit nights, it was magical listening to them howl. Their pens stunk, all that raw meat. Like lion dung. I learned that you couldn’t look at the wolves, because staring directly into their mesmerizing yellow eyes was like looking too long at the sun, like moth to flame, because to see into their souls like that would be a challenge, and they’d bare their teeth lunge at the chain link fences, ready to rip your throat out. So I would sit on a step ladder and looked off to the side, watching them with my peripheral vision, and I listened to the wolves sing.