Oystercatcher Tide Pools i got my crabs from dirty dick's

The seabirds already screamed in the early dawn, swooping and diving against the cotton candy sky. A trail of paw prints followed the wolf, marring the otherwise untouched sand that had been washed clean by the tide. He single tracked, hind foot stepping effortlessly into the place of the fore, almost seeming to float across the sand. He was yet a young wolf, lean and leggy, with a thin summer coat that hugged tight against his flesh. But he was neither frail nor diminished, and his structure was that of a solid, strong animal that would fill out fully with age. Sexual maturity had brought changes, and a mutual decision for Ruckus to find his fate elsewhere, away from the family unit of his birth pack.

The world was wide and filled with opportunity, and he had until winter to seek shelter and friendship. For now, he rose as he pleased, ate as he pleased, hunted as he pleased, and followed the shoreline. The tide pool caught his eye, and his pace quickened into an excited lope. He splashed into the water—warmer than the sea—and sent seabirds flying with an angry chorus of shrieks. The retreating waves had stranded creatures, and Ruckus pawed happily at a submerged crab. With a skilled swat he lifted and flicked the creature from the water and sent it sliding across the sand. A leap, a snap of teeth and a crunch, and the crustacean vanished behind pearly whites.