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​So strongly felt this urge to track,
To scent and chase and mount attack;
It tells of lives less tame than wild,
Of hunting instinct undefiled.

Though born by plan to canine clans,
I brought with me a feline stance,
A skill-set held in mute reserve,
While seeking yet the barking verve.

To bark was joy, this life confirmed,
As in my voice I clear affirmed
No chance to speak would go unheard
By friend or foe or passing bird.

The stealthy ways of soul-made kin,
Though hidden deeply down within,
Would sometimes prompt a cat-like poise,
A pounce made spare of pomp or noise.

No wonder then one's bent to box,
With paws out-flung delivering knocks.
Some homegrown brawls, I'd take this tack,
Confusing Zak when fighting back.

—Princess Zoelandia of the Woof Clan