I am a lupine therianthrope; not too long ago I had someone ask me if I had ever been around any flesh-and-blood wolves, and if so, if I had “felt” anything. I think that people tend to be curious about the reactions that therians have to the animals that we identify as; after all, other flavors of Otherkin can’t exactly walk up to a flesh and blood elf or dragon and see what happens. While there are a few therians whose therioside is an extinct animal, most of us still have living “kin”, as it were.

I’ve never run into a wolf in the wild; I’ve lived primarily in the Midwest or in metro areas, neither of which is a hotbed of wolf activity. In fact, a lot of therians are wild beasts, not domestic or local, so the chances of meeting “our” animals in the wild is pretty slim. I have, however, been to a wolf sanctuary on a number of occasions. The wolves there were paired in large outdoor pens, fed roadkill and domestic meat, and spent their days being observed by curious humans.

The human in me has always felt wonder at these beautiful animals; every visit has strengthened my resolve to do what I can to help protect the wolves that are left. The wolf side, on the other hand, was pretty unimpressed. It’s not that I didn’t recognize them as other wolves. However, they weren’t the same. Stuck in pens, eating carrion, given durable toys to play with instead of herbivores to chase—as far as I was concerned they may as well have been dogs. Granted, this was the only life they could have. Most of them were captive-bred and would never survive in the wild. But I just didn’t feel any connection to these quiet, caged animals who served as ambassadors to humanity.

Hell, I’m more wild than they are in many ways. I have the freedom to roam where I choose and to make the boundaries of my own territory. I can seek out the food I like, and if I really wanted to learn how I could even hunt my own meat. I still probably wouldn’t stand a chance if I were in one of those pens and one of the wolves decided I was a threat, but the particular wild energy that says “wolf” to me just wasn’t there.

I’d imagine that were I to meet a flesh and blood wolf in the wild, while the human side might be full of wonder at this chance encounter, the wolf in me would be in a fight-or-flight mindset. After all, wolves are territorial, and to enter into another wolf’s territory can mean pursuit, injury, and on rare occasions, death. Rationally, I know that the human body I wear wouldn’t exactly cause a pack of wild wolves to run to me and call me packmate. Just because my energy may resemble that of a wolf doesn’t mean that I’m going to fool any physical wolf I find. Wolves aren’t dumb, after all, and energy aside, I still look and smell human—and humans are dangerous.

Even if I were to somehow magically change my body to that of Canis lupus, it wouldn’t necessarily mean instant acceptance. A strange wolf is still an unknown quantity, and I’d have to find a way into a pack just as any other lone wolf would. Just as humans don’t go around embracing each other any time strangers pass by, so wolves don’t automatically accept any other wolves they find. There’s a lot of sizing up and body language that goes on, and there’s no guarantee of pack membership, especially for a wolf that’s not related to the rest. Packs are largely composed of the alpha pair and their young from various years; an outsider can’t just waltz on in.

So what about other animals and therians? I find it hard to believe that nonhuman animals are willing to overlook what they see with their own eyes and view a therian as an animal instead of a human, energetic difference or not. Additionally, I think the romanticized views some people have of therianthropy ignore the very basic interactions between various species of animals. Most animals that are found among therians are territorial, and once again I doubt that any of the flesh and blood animals would be begging for an intruder, regardless of what flesh s/he wore. As the movie Grizzly Man demonstrated, even humans who have learned how to live relatively peacefully among wildlife are not immune to dangers.

As for therians who identify as domesticated animals, it’s more likely that the therian has learned how to communicate to the animals through body language and vocal tone, rather than any spiritual connection. Even among pagans, physical familiars (and by that I don’t just mean any cat or dog a pagan owns) are pretty rare, and require a very specific intuitive bond. While there are horse and dog whsiperers out there, too, some of it is technique—and again, it ties back in with body language. Do therians have a better sense of body language and tone? Perhaps in some cases, yes. For my own part, I’ve worked with dogs most of my life, and so grew up observing and using those skills; I doubt it would have been different if I hadn’t been a therian.

Considering how much most other animals rely on the sense of smell, I think that there’s a whole lot that we’re missing out on, even those who claim “heightened senses” as a result of their therianthropy. We can’t develop extra folds in our nasal passages to accommodate more olfactory nerves, so I’m inclined to think that the better sense of smell is most likely a matter of paying more attention to what we do have access to.

Of course, I’m primarily going on my own experiences and observations here. Maybe I’m missing some vital part of the therian experience. Maybe there are therians who can walk up to their flesh and blood counterpart and have instant acceptance. Such a thing would have to do entirely against instinctual nature, however, and I’d need to see some serious proof to believe it.

Bio: Lupa is a twenty-something pagan and experimental magician living in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and fellow author, Taylor Ellwood. She is the author of Fang and Fur, Blood and Bone: A Primal Guide to Animal Magic, A Field Guide to Otherkin, and is cowriting Kink Magic: Sex Magic Beyond Vanilla (November 2007) with Taylor. She may be found online at http://www.thegreenwolf.com and http://www.kinkmagic.com.