Bitterroot Valley I miss the misery

It was a biiiiiiiig fucking wolf.

Diesel tensed up when it stepped closer. Despite her underfed state, the mastiff was ready for a fight. Wanted one, maybe. It would certainly help keep her thoughts off her rumbling belly. 

And it would be a kickass way to go, if anything. She was sure not even her mom would ever fight a wolf, and the old bitch survived getting hit by a car.

The dog female remained silent, sizing up the other.

Her nose wasn't exactly fine tuned at the moment, overwhelmed by the stench of wolf, so she couldn't discern its gender. Not that it really mattered, as she wasn't about to hit on the damn thing. The white fucker was built like a bear, and Jesus, that was a shitton of scars.

Diesel felt a tad emasculated. Effeminated? Whatever. She puffed her chest out and raised her chin. Well, daddy, here I come.

"This your turf?" She demanded to know, in a way that suggested she didn't give a damn if it was.