Stavanger Bay Grace, too

In his travels, Jackalope met many wolves, and he'd begun to notice how polarized their reactions were, when they came across him. Being somewhat of an angular, shaggy beast with hunched shoulders, a docked tail and protruding upper canines, he understood why some would look at him and immediately assume he meant trouble. But once engaged in conversation, things generally went one of two ways- either the wolves he met were friendly and warm, once they got past their initial hesitation of talking with someone so beast-like, or they were hostile off the get-go, and remained hostile. He wasn't easily rattled, so when the tall, swaggering grey figure in the distance, whose gaze was as icy and sharp as a razor clam's edge, yelled at him- he simply paused and lifted his head only slightly. He blinked as he registered the insult, and the corners of his mouth tightened, drawing his upper lip up, to reveal a bit more of his pointed canines. It wasn't a smile, but for Jackalope, it was how he expressed amusement. That insult was new to him- and he liked it. 

"Douchecrab. I'll have to remember that one," He drawled in his typical, calm monotone. Those words were mostly spoken to himself, and he wasn't sure (nor did he care) if the other male heard him. He shook his head slowly. "I mean no more harm than a piece of driftwood on the beach," He replied. These sea wolves...They were an interesting sort. Salty as the ocean they lived next to, and as abrasive as the winds that ruffled their fur. But he knew that even strong sea winds could be tempered, and if not then they could be harnessed and put to good use. "I'm simply travelling, mapping out the terrain, and where the packs are...And which ones to avoid. There seem to be a few of these along the coast, but I can assure you, I am affiliated with none of them." He said, supposing that an alliance with either of the packs he'd previously discovered along the coast might immediately make him an enemy of this fellow.