Dear Diary, October 26th, 1804
I had been thinking about the little prairie wolf I had encountered a few weeks back on the boat. I remember the men shooting at it, trying to kill it, but something between the little wolf and I, I don't know how to describe it, but I liked her without ever even meeting her. I had tried to save her the day she almost got shot. I had jumped overboard the boat, and swam, trying to reach the point where she was, but never made it. A few days ago, I decided to go on a little adventure to try and find her, but got chased down by a pack of wolves. I somehow hoped that she would never come back, in fear of the men killing her. Captain Clark shot her while I was on a ramble today with Captain Lewis. When I got back to camp, I found my little beauty dead. I could not watch as the captain measured her, and stripped her fur away. I feel as if my heart has been crushed.
