Those who have been friends with me for a while know that I have a passion for wolves.  My house is decorated with framed posters and paintings of gray wolves, ceramic figurines of wolves, resting in the snow or stretching their necks in a silent howl.

It used to be an obsession.  I even had wolf slippers that howl when you pinch their ears.  Now, it is just a deep love.  When I was a young teenager, I had a dream where I was hiking at night and got lost.  After stumbling through thicket, I had given up hope.  The trail I was on opened to a circular clearing and standing in the center was a wolf with snow white fur.  “Lost your way?”  His voice sounded like mine.  “Come on, it’s out this way.”  He led me away from the clearing and back into the woods.  After that, the dream was disrupted by my alarm clock.  This changed my love of wolves from a simple liking to a great respect and appreciation.

Native Americans studied and revered the wolf as a guide for behaviors like honoring family, hunting with grace and pride, and surviving in difficult conditions.  After my dream, this is how I also looked at the wolf, as a guide, a symbol of sorts.  My totem.