I guess I'm a dog person, so the canids have a special power for

When Steve Backshall confessed, “I guess I’m a dog person, so the canids have a special power for me. And yet wolves are everything our own pet pooches are not; untameable, primal, doing all they can to avoid people and wandering the wildest corners of our globe,” he was not merely speaking of animals, but of the eternal divide between the domesticated and the wild, between the hearth of man and the freedom of nature. His words remind us that within every loyal pet lies a shadow of the wilderness, and that the wolf, the ancestor of the dog, still walks in the untamed silence of creation.

The dog person cherishes loyalty, companionship, and comfort—the warmth of a trusted creature who walks beside us, sharing our meals and mirroring our moods. Dogs have become extensions of ourselves: guardians of our homes, companions of our journeys, and even healers of our solitude. They are proof that bonds can be formed between species, and that love can overcome the divide of language. But Backshall turns our gaze beyond the fireside, to the wolves, who remind us that not all bonds may be forged, and not all beings desire our taming hand.

The wolf is untameable, and in this lies its majesty. It does not bow its head to the leash, nor does it wait patiently at the door for its master’s return. It remains forever primal, living by its own rhythms, guided not by the will of men but by the deep laws of wilderness. To see a wolf is to glimpse a life that refuses capture, a spirit that embodies freedom in its purest form. It reminds us that while man has conquered much of the earth, there are still beings who walk outside his dominion.

History gives us many tales of this divide. The Romans, in their founding myth, spoke of Romulus and Remus, twin brothers raised by a she-wolf. She gave them milk, shelter, and survival, yet never lost her wildness. That wolf was not a pet, nor a servant; she was a symbol of Rome’s strength—savage, free, and fierce. In this myth, as in Backshall’s reflection, we see the truth: the wolf is both kin and stranger, both parent and predator. It teaches without obeying, and it protects without belonging.

The power of wolves lies also in what they awaken within us. They are mirrors of the part of ourselves that civilization has buried: the hunger for freedom, the instinct to roam, the refusal to be bound by walls or chains. Dogs remind us of comfort, loyalty, and love. Wolves remind us of independence, wildness, and strength. Both are needed, for the human heart is both domestic and untamed. To honor one and ignore the other is to live only half a life.

So, dear listener, the lesson is this: cherish the companions who walk beside you, but never forget the wildness that walks beyond your gates. Learn from the dog, who teaches love, trust, and loyalty. But learn also from the wolf, who teaches freedom, resilience, and the dignity of the untamed. To live well is to balance the comfort of home with the call of the wilderness, to know when to sit by the fire and when to walk into the night.

In practical action, this means: embrace loyalty in your relationships, but do not let it chain you from your own path. Seek adventure as well as security. Allow yourself to wander into new territories of thought, experience, and challenge. Remember that life is not only about being safe and cared for—it is also about answering the call of the unknown. Carry within you the spirit of both the dog and the wolf, and you will walk as one who is both grounded and free.

Thus the words of Steve Backshall remind us that the canids are more than animals—they are living parables. The dog is our partner, teaching us devotion. The wolf is our reminder of freedom, teaching us to resist chains. Together they whisper the ancient truth: to live fully, man must be both companion and wanderer, both tame and wild, both hearth-bound and sky-bound.