Out of money and with no place to lay his head, our boy soon became a product of the streets. Sleeping anywhere he could and eating out of dumpsters behind restaurants, his bedraggled appearance gave him an animal-like quality. Wolf could snarl and growl just like the canine he was named after. If another homeless person attempted to take over his spot or steal from his dining places, he would posture and prance, bare his teeth and, if the occasion warranted, howl to beat the devil. Soon people who didn't know him began referring to him as The Wolf, and that suited our boy just fine.

Wolf moved from place to place. Montana couldn't hold him so he moved on to Wyoming, to Colorado, up into Oregon and back toward the east. Winters would find him in Arizona or New Mexico while a summer home waited for him in the Ozarks or the Adirondacks. Wolf was a traveling man, he was seeing the world, one state at a time. For an Ex-Foster Kid/Homeless Man, he thought he was doing all right for himself. Coming and going as he pleased and defending himself when necessary, he considered he was living high on the hog. Life was treating Wolf as well as he could expect it to.

Days became months and months years but what did the passing of time matter to a young man on the road? His dark hair growing longer and the mix of gray spreading through his locks, the resemblance to his namesake was more pronounced. Wolf was quite a sight on the streets where he lived. Although no one approached him, people would still stop and stare at the very sight of him. If they pointed or yelled at him, he would let out a growl or a howl to scare them away. And, oh boy, would they run, particularly little children.