Wait For It… a blog by Andy Ross

Raised By Wolves

Posted on May 11, 2011


Okay, so I haven’t mentioned this on the blog before, but I was raised by wolves. And, I don’t normally talk about it, because people are always like, “Wow! Really? So, do you like have fleas and stuff?” Which is so offensive.

I mean, yes, my wolf mother happened to have fleas, and therefore I had fleas. Had in the past tense. That was a normal part of growing up in the woods. Would you ask somebody raised by bears if they have fleas?

Also, people assume I have bad manners. I have very good manners, thank you. They’re just different manners than you’re used to. For instance, I might not know which fork to use for stabbing leaf meals, but I do know when I should roll over exposing my belly versus when I should submissively urinate. It’s called etiquette.

So, right now I’m going to address a few of the most common questions I get, and then hopefully we can move on and not dwell on the wolf thing.

Yes, I do enjoy running and pouncing. Yes, my favorite meal is baby caribou. No, I’m not only attracted to wolves. Yes, I do howl in my sleep. No, I cannot sense when a wolf in my pack is in trouble. Honestly, most of my pack were jerks, and I only see them at wolf holidays or when I graduated from Wisconsin.

There. Can we drop it?

Listen, it’s not some big deal. I was raised by wolves. Big whoop. A lot of really great people were raised by wolves---Romuls and Remus, Mogli, Howie Mandel. Do you guys constantly ask them what it’s like to chase down and devour a musk ox? (It’s awesome, by the way. Are you happy, now? It’s super awesome.)

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go scent mark my cubicle.

You heard me.