Dog Man Age Novels & Stories

“Did you notice the ages?” “Yeah.” The oldest wolf they had ever rescued was 22 and he was damn near feral according to the article. “I think once they found out the older wolves were more work, they started focusing on saving the younger ones only.” He didn’t blame them for that. Saving the child wolves from the trauma was just as important as saving the older ones.

Elder Chase stated closing the door behind him. Elder Chase had a shorter stature, he had light brown hair with speckles of gray mixed in. He had a well-trimmed beard that covered the lower half of his face. He appeared to be in his early sixties so in wolf years he was probably over 125 years old.

I gestured to the door. “Saved that girl from an unimpressive ten minutes with you?” She shrugged with a smile. I know she’s trying to joke and mess with me, but I am in no mood. I glare at her. “You know nothing about my stamina. But you know that since I got that dog, I’ve had shit luck with women, which has NEVER been a problem for me. I’ve been getting laid since I was sixteen without a problem.”

With his enormous snout, he sniffs at me, bobbing his head slightly as if asking for a taste of what I have. I reward him with the treats I've brought, which are dried cattle femurs—a bone that would typically last an average dog a year, but this behemoth could demolish in under twenty minutes. As I toss it as far as I can into the yard, Dean limps around the corner of the house, looking taken aback. "What on earth happened to him?" Dean asks, bewildered. "What do you mean, isn't that the same dog?" I respond, equally baffled.

“Miles.” “Miles…” I repeated slowly. “Solid name. Gentle. Possibly owns a dog.” She laughed. “He does. A golden retriever named Baxter. He’s ten. Miles, not the dog.” I raised a brow. “He’s older?” “By ten years.” “Rachel Montego dating a mature man with a dog and gray in his beard?” I teased. “Who even are you?” She swatted my arm. “He’s not that old. But yes, older. He’s kind. Steady. No games. No pretense.. besides, I like my men older, they are always mature.

Meadow is the first to calm back to a straight face, wiping her eye where a tear had formed, and she snuggles up beside me once more in this new less hostile atmosphere. “Yeah, but three thousand years? I’m sure even the strongest Botox is going to struggle with that timeline.” I point out, thinking back to Meadow finding an article about Botox and humans preserving their youth some months back. She was unimpressed with how vain she considered humans to be and the extreme measures they would take to fight the aging cycle. Easy to judge when wolves literally don’t age like that and we stay healthy and youthful until we die. We reach adulthood, sort of around the looks of a thirty-year-old hum

"What's his name, sir?" "This is Truffle. He's an adult dog, but still young. He's a year and a half old. He came to the shelter as soon as he was born because his mother's guardian couldn't find anyone to adopt him. He's very sweet. He's one of the dogs that's been here the longest," the guardian explained.

The oblivious doorman was mentally cursed when he dared say good night, and the poor digital lock almost crashed under his recognized fingerprint. The only one who escaped his rage was Batman. He could never get mad at him. The almost ninety pounds dog woke up to the sound of the opening door and lazily stood to greet his owner. Thankfully, he wasn't the most active dog anymore, because his suit wouldn't survive the stamina from his puppy days. Not that a forty-pound dog could ever be considered a puppy, but still. “Hey Batman, missed me much?” the dog answered with a resounding bark. “Me too, buddy. You know, today was fucking weird”

From what I can tell, our wolves are generally healthier and appear happier. Early on the day of her twenty-second birthday, Deimos lands on our bed. We can no longer contain him in his crib, and we started to lock the bedroom door to stop him from wandering off in the middle of the night and getting into trouble. Now nine months old, he’s roughly the size of the average two-year old. “Papa!” he squeals and falls on my chest. “Hungwy.” “I know.” I groan and struggle upright. “You’re always hungry, aren’t you?”

"Calm down, man. What am I supposed to? He's fine. But he knows this. I'm just stating facts." He growled at me and I flagged him off, turning back around to Hugh. "Pay him no mind. He'll be alright." Hugh smirked. "Thank you for the compliment." I smiled. "I get confused with wolves and y'alls genes. You feel older, and you have this mature look about you, but I can never tell." He chuckled. "Yes, I am older. I'll be 52 this year." Sighed out. "Freaking wolf genes. I swear if I don't age like y'all, we fighting."