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Thread: Live as your animal

  1. #1
    Join Date
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    Default Live as your animal

    As of today, it's late March, 2016.

    This thread is intended to make you live as your own animal, imaginatively, and with as much realistic detail as you can muster. We are non-anthropomorphic animals and we do not interact. Our posts can only parallel each other, at best. This is an exercise to allow us to shift as animal, and also to compel us to look into our own animal's behaviour and psyche. It's a story written in one or two or three paragraphs at a time by each participant. Imagination is encouraged. Biological reality is encouraged. If you're not sure of something regarding your own animal, research it.

    Let's each write our own stories, over time, of how an animal of our species might live and, over long spans of time, even die.

    You can write a few paragraphs or you can write a sentence at a time. There are no writing restrictions. Just keep it real in the sense of being true to the wild animal, as much as you can. Some human qualities are understandable; we are biologically human, after all. But try to be "in character" as your animal in the wild as much as possible.

    Having said that, let's start the tale of your own animal. Get shifty and then write.

    In my own writings, "coyote" and "coywolf" are interchangeable.
    ---

    The dripping from the underpasses and the melting on shallow ponds heralds what the humans would know as "Spring". The female coywolf tests a semi-melted pond delicately, black claws touching ice, and then applies pressure until her calloused pawpads sink into frozen muck and her pale forelegs immerse. She backs off and shakes her fur. A reflex. Mud smells and the tempting smell of cold ice envelop her senses. Her own neck and body and head still smell of deer carrion and dog, the last smells she has rolled in, delicious to her but gone, far gone by now.

    Her territory sprawls across human fields and well into the nearby forests and rivers and streams. The fields and the stream are where she might choose to bear her young. She is two years old, a young adult well on her way to developing her own pack. She has been approached, but her potential mates do not choose her; she chooses them. This year she has driven off a potential mate. This year she will not bear young. This year she will live as a lone coyote and a lone wolf, with all of the danger that implies. She's scrawny. She feasts on rabbits, mice, slow ground-dwelling birds, and occasionally on carrion. She can barely remember the time when she and two packmates helped to take down and devour a white-tailed deer, eventually leaving only its head and vertebrae as a monument to predation by any fellow predators or human beings who might happen across it.

    Now she is venturing into the city, tempted by hydro corridors and underpasses where mice and rabbits congregate. She won't know that the city in the blurry distance, the alien monoliths that cause unease, is called Toronto. She won't even get to prey on one of their rat-like dogs, coyote chow, a chihuahua, until next month. But something calls her. Scent calls her, along with a very vague sense of familiarity, the 10% of domestic dog DNA running through her veins. She is big, bigger than a western coyote, with a broader muzzle and hazel eyes. Her tail hangs low even when she is dominant, unlike a wolf's tail. But now her tail wags slowly, swishing back and forth across the melting ice.

    She needs to delineate a new territory. She scent-marks this small place near the highway, crouching to piss. Then she gets up, and with a small wag of her tail, she sets toward the city, slightly hungry and lonely. The glare of car headlights streams past to her right, oblivious and loud, and as she proceeds into the parkland adjacent to the highway, the night envelops her, welcoming her and encouraging her to keep seeking as one of its own. Here she is at home. Her eyes adapt. Her auditory field circumnavigates these woods and reports back to her erect ears. Smells show up as flickering waves of scent to follow.

    The smells are fresh and empty of predator-scent. She runs into the woods and disappears, scenting and listening intently every minute of the way. Potential food is all around. Later, after dawn, she will sleep, and then she'll run again. But for now she listens and her nose tells her everything. She is patient. She waits.

  2. #2
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    A soft muzzle nips at rain soaked grass, enjoying the taste, ripping chunks out of the ground with satisfaction. Birds chirp shrilly, calling to each other. A lazy figure shifts her weight side to side, enjoying the feeling of sun on her back.

    A branch cracked, and the creature snapped her head up instantly, ears up and alert at once, listening for sounds of potential predators. Instead her eyes focus on an elegant doe and her fuzzy fawn. The pair tremble under the larger beast's gaze, but the unicorn disregard them and turned her attention back to her meal. The deer wandered off, the long legged baby prancing alongside it's mother.

    The unicorn stands in the sun for hours. Flies come and nip at her, and she shakes them off impatiently, snapping her teeth at the ones that venture in front of her face. The day grows hot and dry, and she makes her way towards a rushing creak. Hours pass and when she emerges, her hair is sleek and shiny from her swim. Her body shakes and she flicks her tail, but the water remains on her skin.

    The sun is hot on her, but she rests under a tree, surveying her home with a contented eye.
    Reality is an illusion, the universe is hologram, buy gold, bye!

    "The stylin', profilin', limousine riding, jet flying, kiss stealing, wheelin' n' dealin' son of a gun!"

  3. #3
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    The rain has finally stopped and with it, the female wolf shakes her thick grey fur dry. She shivers all over and then stretches; first one back leg, than the other, then bowing down as her spine arches.

    She cocks a pointed ear in the direction of soft rustling in the underbrush. Her belly rumbles with hunger as she moves over quietly to investigate potential breakfast. A mouse skitters across her path and, lightning quick, it's gone in a fast gulp. Tongue lolling out of her mouth in a satisfied canine grin, she sits down and idly uses a hind-paw to scratch at the ruff of her neck. Fleas always get worse when the weather starts to turn warmer.

    Lifting her cold, wet nose to the sky as it begins to lighten with early morning, she lets out a clear, crystalline howl. She is letting others know that she is here and that she is making her rounds across her territory.

    "That's wolves for ya', good guys!" -Wolf, t10k
    wolf/werewolf | 37 | female | writer | scuba diver | funny | chaotic good | Hufflepuff | eclectic witch

  4. #4

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    I awake with my long muzzle burried safely between my forepaws on the soft leafy ground by the side of my favourite pond, for this is my spot. This is my territory, the woods on the hill behind the town. I stretch my forelegs out in front of me and yawn. The sun is going down and my afternoon sleep is over. There are all sorts of interesting scents in the air and it's time to head out on my evening hunt, see if I can catch a rabbit or maybe a small deer.

    I stand up and shake my fur. Nothing feels better than a good shake. I sniff the cool evening air, and through the trees I catch the scent of a young deer. Maybe tonight's my lucky night! I trot along slowly, listening and looking, stopping occasionally to sniff the ground. I follow the scent further up the hill.

    Near the top the breeze ruffles the fur on my face as I gaze down briefly into the town below. I know that place - the terrifying smells, the terrifying noises, and the terrifying humans in every corner. But I don't care much for it now. My ears prick and turn as I hear rustling in the dead leaves on the ground. Eagerly I turn and trot in the direction of the sound. It feels great, getting a good trot going, flexing my strong wolf muscles as I propel myself steadily along the ground on all four paws, feeling the gentle movement of my fur with each step.

    My sense of smell tells me that I'm close to my prey now. I slow down and look around. There it is, hiding in the trees! I must move very slowly and quietly now, otherwise I'll frighten the thing off. I creep slowly forward, being careful not to make a sound as I place each paw firmly on the ground, my muzzle low to the ground, my eyes focussed firmly on my target. I lick my lips in anticipation.

    Here I am, right behind my prey. Suddenly, I leap forward. The deer's off in a flash through the trees. I chase. I know for certain that I can outrun it, it's young and won't be able to keep up a fast run for long. Gradually I draw closer. Finally, I jump up and sink my strong sharp teeth into it's back. It pulls away, and I chase it again. I chase it back down the hill, closer to home. Eventually, when I'm ready, I grab a hold of it's neck with my jaw. I hold on firmly until it collapses. The hunt is over. I've scored myself a lovely meal, and it's on my own territory! I let out a long, proud, happy, howl. This is my territory, do you hear? Mine!

    I wag my tail as I bend down to eat. It's so satisfying, taking that first bite of a big kill after a long energetic hunt. I pin the carcass down with my forepaws as I rip the flesh away from the bones with my sharp canine teeth. I eat happily, tearing mouthful after mouthful off until I feel full and ready to sleep. I raise my leg and pee on the ground around the carcass, marking it as mine. I head off to my spot, my den if you like, by the pond. I lap a few mouthfuls of water before lying down again, curling my thick fluffy tail comfortably around my hind legs and going back to sleep.

    ---

    I hope I wasn't too graphic on the details of the hunt, sorry. I was trying to make it interesting, plus it feels very detailed in my mind.

    It was nice writing this, actually. Usually when I try to imagine stuff like this I get horribly distracted, but now I could focus and imagine every little detail. It's like I'm actually hunting.
    Psychological therian.

    "If it howls like a wolf, snarls like a wolf, and thinks it's a wolf, then it probably is a wolf." - micheal65536

  5. #5
    Join Date
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    The Leopardess rouses gently from her sleep, a small female cub prancing about her playfully and nipping at her sides to ask her for a drink of milk. She rolls onto her side allowing her young one to feed, and gazes out of her cave, taking in the spring sun warming the rocky face of her home. She is roughly 3 years old, and with only half of her first litter surviving due to an exceptionally harsh winter and lack of food, she is expanding her territory southward to cover more of the steppe near her mountain range. Her cub is almost old enough to share in her kills, and is proving to be quite energetic and graceful. She scoops her kitten closer with a massive paw and begins the post-meal grooming that will soon send her off to sleep.

    She'll plan a hunt soon, but first things first. She pulls her clean, happy, sleeping cub closer to her and chuffs softly as she gets a little more sleep in before today's hunt.

    (I know this seems short and maybe not so detailed, but this is my strongest memory of my Snow Leopard life.)
    Snow Leopard
    Caracal


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