My folks maintained a Montana homestead in the early 1900s, and one winter we had a run-in with timber wolves. When we needed groceries during the winter, my father would cull out some chickens and take them to town to sell for groceries.
My mother and brother and I were watching him one time when he was about a mile from home. What looked like several calves were following him at a distance of about 100 yards.
When he returned Mother asked whose calves they were.
"They weren't calves," he said. "They were timber wolves. And if they had come too close, I was ready to turn the chickens loose."
-Advertisement-
From then on he carried a shotgun when he went to town.
Preston Bryson
Beatrice, Nebraska
