Sorrowful Howls

In the early morning of my childhood, I can vaguely remember what my eyes saw. But the feelings, the sounds I know well. Crickets singing nature's lullaby. Light rain showers outside the den. Growling rustle of playfulness. My mother's cold, wet nose nuzzling my muzzle. The warmth of her underbelly drawing me in. Suckling the nipple for sweet, sweet milk. Father has returned from the hunt! Shaking away the water droplets. Raw meat...and blood intoxicate the air. My mouth waters; wanting a taste. But I am far too young so I continue to suckle the milk. Ears twitching, brother and sister devours father's kill. Disappointed, I whimper and cry. Mother nuzzles me in tight. Even father lays next. Giving my muzzle a good licking. Yawning, stretching I drift off to sleep... Faintly hearing sorrowful howls.