This weekend the Wife and I slept with wolves. Not the sort from Saturday morning cartoons either. Predators like these could shatter a bone and consume five pounds of meat per minute. Cute for the photographers, loyal to their trainers, and deadly to interlopers. God bless New Jersey. Only in the Garden State can one find such entertainment.

All right, so technically we slept at a private campground near Pennsylvania that borders a wolf preserve. A twelve foot high fence separated us from the animals. Danger of an attack: low to non-existent.

But on Sunday afternoon, once the campground emptied out, of the nearly 100 campsites, ours was the only occupied one. That night, if there was food, we cooked it. If there were voices, it was ours. If there was a fire, we stoked the flames. We ruled the campground. But we shared that power.

After the sun set, the wind laid down, and the last ember in the fire pit gave out, the wolves howled. And then the magnificient creatures, just like us, slept.

Here’s some pictures of the wolf preserve:

No, I’m not in the above picture.

Odin rules this pack.

Cache, a bobcat.

A red fox.