Wolf Hunters We Must Be

Dr. Olivia Johnson

This poem responds to the recent surge of stories I've come across about wolves harming the flock, especially our children.

I am at a loss for words tonight.
Not because the world is silent,
but because it is not.

These stories arrive uninvited,
scrolling through my feed like shadows.
I am not searching for them.
Yet there they are,
reminders of darkness
that slips quietly among the day.

We tell ourselves they are only a few.
And perhaps that is true.
A few broken souls,
a few twisted hearts,
a few who choose harm
where others choose mercy.

But it only takes a few.
A single wolf in a quiet field
can scatter a hundred sheep.

One moment of cruelty
can echo through countless lives.
So we cannot simply look away.

We cannot shrug and say
it is rare, while hoping rarity is enough.

Because the sheep still graze.
Because the innocent still trust.
Because the quiet and the gentle
should not have to fear the dark.

And so the work remains.

For all of us.
To watch.
To speak.
To rise up - even when it is hard.

To call out the shadow
when it creeps too close.
Not with hatred,
but with courage.
Not with vengeance,
but with resolve.

If wolves walk among the flock,
and if even a few can bring harm,
then vigilant we must remain.

And when the moment calls for it,
when protection becomes duty,
Sheepdogs will rise to the occasion
and wolf hunters we must be.

Rise Up Sheepdogs - the Wolf is at the door.