On most days the ranch was avoided at all costs. For one thing Jefferson lived there, and while Lysander hadn’t formally met his one and only leader, he didn’t think many of his antics with other packs would go over well with the wolf responsible for keeping peace between packs. If news of Lysander hording Dahlia de Mai puppies had ever reach Jefferson’s ears, Lysander never heard about it. The ranch was, in Lysander’s opinion, a memorial to the laziness of the pack. Lysander knew it took work to care for the animals, clean up after them, feed them, and whatever, but it also further separated them from their wild roots, though Lysander’s roots were tied to ancestors who got fed from paper bags and cans. Further back though, once upon a time, his ancestors had been wolves, and he preferred to hunt his own food, even in winter when it was not as available.
Yet today something was different. Lysander was feeling lazy, and more over, when Lysander went poking around the ranch, much to his relief, there was no sign of anyone. Slowly he made the rounds, by passing pens of cattles, sheep and pigs. They were all too large for him to eat alone, those would have required an accomplice which he didn’t have and Lysander didn’t wish to leave the evidence laying around. Although he wasn’t fully invested in the pack, it was his home and he would stay as long as they let him. He might bend the rules a bit, but he didn’t want to so obviously break them.
Turkeys. That was the answer. Lysander paused at their pen, the brainless animals ambling around pecking, digging at the ground with their feet. A turkey was a large, but doable meal. Lysander had contemplated hunting in his lupus form, but on two legs with two hands to strangle the defenseless bird it was a much less messy job. As he prepared to hop over the fence he wondered if anyone counted the animals at night, but in the end he decided it didn’t matter.