Thousands and thousands of years ago, the wary wolves circled the fire. They were drawn by the irresistible aroma of meat, called from their dens by hunger and opportunity; now they stood in the shadows, watching the Big Ones eat. They could smell the marrow.
They were different, these Big Ones, but somehow familiar; they traveled in families, they bore a common scent. They howled to each other in a strange way the wolves somehow understood. Perhaps a deal could be struck. An arrangement made. Food in exchange for hunting skills, for defense.
Wait a minute, one of the wolves said. Throw our lot in with these guys, and in 50,000 years our descendants will be propped up on bikes, made to wear sunglasses and smoke a pipe without knowing what the hell was going on. We are wolves! We have our dignity! Is it worth the shame?
The wolves thought a while.
God, I’m hungry, said one of the wolves.
And that settled that.