The historian: (steering the Camry of Power into a pullout, so a speedster can pass us) I don't think I should be going much faster than this, do you?
Me: No. I was just reading (brandishing the ample documentation, newsletters, maps, warning leaflets, and whatnot that they give you when you drive into the park) that every year, 200 large mammals are killed on the road. Because of speeding. So 45 is perfect. Those guys are assholes.
The historian: ...and speaking of that,
Me: A WOLF! (which is sauntering down the middle of the road. It glances back at us, then crosses to the shoulder and down into a meadow.)
The historian: Think that's a wolf? Probably a coyote.
Me: Awwwwwwwww, let's say it's a wolf. (wrestling with my camera and its long lens, trying to point in the right direction, as we drive slowly by)
The historian: No, maybe it is a wolf. Looks too big to be a coyote.
Me: A WOLF. (failing failing failing to get the wolf into the frame)
The historian: Do you want me to stop?
Me: No. . . I missed it. I didn't get it. (camera all bulky and not really my friend yet, acting like it's a little too good for me in my fumbly hands.)
The historian: You sure? We can stop.
Me: No. Let the wolf be. (All of a sudden, wise in the ways of nature. Philosophical. Zen-like. Turning to The historian:) The WOLF.