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Stupid Dog!

@gooyote.bsky.social
253 followers 2.3K following 0 posts

scrangly coyote and big dumb werewolf it/it's, 20+ not a single braincell in this skull NSFW stuff somewhere probably

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the beast is back in town @thebevil.bsky.social · 27/03/2026
me to the nefarious beast: aaaayeeee whassup how's it been nefarious beast: gerrr rrrr ghrrr grrhhrhrrrr rrrrr me: thats why I fuck with you you keep it so real man
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wolves ☉∇ ☣ 🏜️ @wolf.moda · 13/01/2026
"therian" is putting it lightly, "furry" invokes an air of pretend, "lycanthrope" makes me sound insane but I am, "were" implies I've ever not been this, "holothere" doesn't layer around the shape fully, "biological nonhuman" is a layer of abstraction, I AM a wolf
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Lycan Witch @lycanwitch.art · 03/08/2025
Fenrir does not look down at you in disappointment. Fenrir is not like the gods of man, crafted to judge & scorn from on high… Fenrir was chained not because he did wrong, but because he was. Because of his unyielding power & untamable will, were terrifying to those who built empires on control.
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wolves ☉∇ ☣ 🏜️ @wolf.moda · 17/07/2025
huuuruugughh leave me alone ...... um in my straw....
wolf asleep in a crate filled with straw
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MF TUESDAY @dykelycan.bsky.social · 18/11/2025
WOLF TOOLS ca.news.yahoo.com/b-c-wolves-l...
ca.news.yahoo.com
B.C. wolves use line to pull up crab traps in first possible tool use by species
Researchers have captured video footage of wild wolves in British Columbia pulling crab traps out of the sea by their lines to eat the bait inside, in the first evidence of possible tool use by the an...
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kas @vhsdogs.bsky.social · 13/11/2025
BURN IT ALL
illustration of a wolf like canine with a spiked collar holding a burning torch in its mouth, it stands on a grass verge with a city backdrop and is surrounded by flames 
block text reads “BURN IT ALL” at the top of the page, and smaller text at the bottom reads “NO SYSTEM BUT THE ECOSYSTEM, PROTECT COMMUNITIES NOT COMPANIES”
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Some Kind of Wolf @jimmybelvins.bsky.social · 28/10/2025
hi you should pet me
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Rabosa al Forn @rabosaalforn.bsky.social · 02/10/2025
Can you feel them?
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walking mirage @wolf.observer · 30/09/2025
william stafford
Coyote
My left hind-
foot
steps
in the track of my right
fore-
foot
and my hind-right
foot
steps
in the track of my
fore-left
foot
and so on, for miles—
Me paying no attention, while
my nose rides along letting
the full report, the
whole blast of the countryside
come along toward me
on rollers of scent, and—
I come home with a chicken or
a rabbit and sit up
singing all night with my friends.
It’s baroque, my life, and
I tell it on the mountain.
I wouldn’t trade it for yours.
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Jackal @forestfright.art · 27/09/2025
No More Light #ffrightart
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Shimi @shimi.bsky.social · 26/09/2025
New zine: “Look Into My Eyes One Last Time” A final love letter to the self I shed A prayer for the creature. Becoming A reckoning, a surrender. Homecoming This is my deepest wish laid bare—needle, fur, breath, & mercy. Being held with a care I never found. #AnimalHRT #Therianthropy #ShortStory
A hand-drawn black-and-white cover image in a sketchy ink style. At the top, large stenciled type reads: “LOOK INTO MY EYES ONE LAST TIME.” Below the title is a syringe and a small medicine vial labeled “LUPINEX – Therionyl – 5mL,” with a stylized eye logo on the label. The vial and syringe are crosshatched with vintage texture lines. Below the drawing, in handwritten script, is the phrase: “Homecoming, not vanishing” and the signature Shimi & Critter.[Art on Page] A detailed graphite drawing of a wolf’s eyes. One, the left is more formed than the right — indicating a near but not complete transition. The fur around them is dense and wispy, rendered in fine pencil lines that suggest softness and depth. The eyes are highly realistic and expressive, staring directly outward with intense, soulful focus. They seem alert but ancient—wide with instinct, watching as if waiting for something to begin. The drawing fades at the edges into blank white space, giving the eyes a floating, disembodied presence.

Look into my eyes one last time

Look into my eyes. Hold them close until you can see the last scrap of me — the part that counts thoughts in lists, that weighs choices against rules, that folds shame into tidy, human-shaped pockets. Watch it loosen. Watch the corners of doubt unhook themselves like small animals from a net and dart away. There is no melodrama here, no violent yanking; it slips. The human mind peels like old bark, and underneath, the thing that always was settles warm and terrible and simple.
	They give me the last injection in a room that smells faintly of cedar and lemon. No needles, no cold clinical lecture — only the careful hands of doctors, veterinarians and nurses who know which bones to cradle and which stories to leave untold. I breathe. I lost the ability to count days back. I let the bracing liquid be a gate, not an instruction manual. I do not want to name it; names are the thin net that caught me for years.
	The burn is a rumour. It goes through me sideways — a quiet rearrangement, like a convent bell that signals not death but a calling. My limbs answer first. They stop thinking of movement and begin to remember it: how to fold, to coil, to push. 
Tendons unlearn the polite phrasing of two-legged steps and curve toward the old, fourfold geometry of running. My hands tighten and flatten; the knuckles find a new logic. Fur prickles along my forearms as if a thousand small moths take flight together and settle again. Each hair is a note in a chord I’ve felt… no… known in my bones since childhood.
	Look again. See how the pupils widen, how the whites retreat like a shy moon. My last maps of metaphor — the maps that turned hunger into lists and longing into projects — dissolve. Where there had been a ledger of self, there is now only the immediate ledger of scent and sound and the earth’s exact tilt beneath my weight. I do not mourn the maps. I never used them as well as the human world predicted and as I pretended.
	Sound changes. Those little, trivial noises of the room condense into a chorus: the slow tick of breath in the person beside me, the whisper of fabric, the distant wet confluence of gutters. And underneath that: a low, patient life-frequency — root and soil and river. It is not music so much as an acknowledgment. I find I can hear the insect conversation inside the walls, the sap walking up the birch, the small, stupid heartbeat of a mouse two blocks away. There is an intimacy to it that is almost rude.
	Breath becomes work and worship at once. My ribcage narrows, then widens in ways I know but cannot name. Milk memories — a thing to shame into silence when human — rise like a tide: the cadence of suckling, the doctrinal simplicity of being called to feed and to protect. A swelling around my belly that is not fat but purpose.
 I think of my children who never were, of the packs I have loved in mute pieces. The notion of motherhood is larger than gender; it is a compass with teeth. My children! You are my children and you are my all!My jaw shifts. I feel the slow, inevitable rearrangement — a socket loosens, a hinge finds its voice. A tooth erupts where an organised thought had lived. The smell of iron, rain-damp soil, and sleeping bodies that have waited for me — flooding my mouth like saliva.
Tears come and I do not know if they are human or creature; they taste of salt and release. There is a tenderness in my own trembling that I have never allowed before.
	Outside the window, someone whose scent I knew laughs and it sounds to me like a distant bell. The handlers murmur: careful, gentle, let her and her pack decide. My mouth forms the shape and bark of guttural assent I could not voice when I was wholly human. Somewhere a crate opens as if the world is taking a breath with me.
	They will test me further, yes. They will see whether my newness walks toward the wild or clings to the small, safe hands of fosterers who will teach me boundaries, how to pass in a world of paved things. I do not fear them. I am no longer wrapped in that ledger — of consent, of cost, of consequence. I am wrapped in appetite and mercy. The choice, if there is one, feels less like an argument and more like a direction: toward den or home, toward the kill lovingly taken or the bowl lovingly given.
	Look once more. There is no human drama in my eyes now — only depth, like a riverbed where stones remember every footstep. The last scrap of thought, the tiny librarian of my life who loved lists, things and order, exhales and steps back through the doorway we are leaving open. I feel it go, and where it is gone there is fullness, a pulse that answers the creature’s call without translation.
	This is not a loss. It is not my obliteration. It is the solving of a long, clenched equation. I am not lessened. I am finally the shape I have been learning.
	Look into my eyes, one last time.
	I am awakening.

— Shimi & Critter
@shimi.bsky.social
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kaim✰ @kaimti.me · 30/08/2025
being an animal is everything
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Shimi @shimi.bsky.social · 08/07/2025
Hey There Little One
hey there. little one.
i’ve been trailing your scent
through the wasteland for days.
don’t run.
i’m not here to hurt you.
i’m here to tell you—you’re not wrong.
all your life you’ve twitched at shadows,
felt eyes where there were none,
ached like something was missing
just under your skin.

they called it dreaming.
they called it madness.
but i’ve seen it.
i’ve seen you.
and you’re real.
not some soft mistake.
not a too-bright child who never learned to settle.
you are claws. you are hunger.
you are song written in wet leaves and dirt.
you are what came before language.
don’t you remember?
when you used to listen with your whole body?
when you could read the sky like scripture?
when sleep came only after circling down,
nose to tail, heart to moss?

you used to know these things.
before they taught you to be still.
before they filed your teeth
and stuffed your mouth with plastic.
before the quiet got so loud
you forgot how to feel.
but i didn’t forget you.
and you didn’t lose it.
it’s all still inside—
the instinct, the kin-sense,
the aching need to run without name or reason.
the snarl that isn’t anger
but love with no words.
you’ve tried to play nice.
tried to keep your head down,
your tail tucked.

but i see you.
i see what’s under the mask.
the beast that paces.
the soft creature still watching the trees
for a signal.
for a friend.
for a way home.
listen.

this world isn’t safe.
but it was never meant to be.
we weren’t made for steel boxes and lonely kitchens.
we were meant for packs.
for muddy paws and rib-warmth and
eyes that say i know you.
i don’t promise ease.
but i promise this:
you are not alone.
you were never alone.

so rise.
panting, blinking, wild with grief—
but rise.
and when the night presses in,
don’t whisper.
howl. howl into the void
until something howls back.
and then run to it.

run to the ones who remember.
run like your name depends on it.
because it does.
i’ve waited so long.
we all have
come back.
come through.
come home.
— Shimi & Critter
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Radiant One @wifewolf.bsky.social · 01/07/2025
I think it's time I start working on that zine idea of an anarchist retelling of Ragnarok, of the myths leading up to it from the lens of the destruction of patriarchal and racist structures.🧵
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Shimi @shimi.bsky.social · 18/06/2025
I felt moved last night to make something… a Therian artefact… a poster? Manifesto? Handout? Flyer? Whatevs. Its done. I’ll stick a few up over town.
A B&W poster” “WE WEREN’T BORN AS THEY SAID,” with poetic text about creaturely identity, defiance of naming systems, & embracing transformation. The design is chaotic & natural, with pencil-style animal drawings in each corner: a wolf (top left), a raven (top right), a rabbit (bottom left), & a cat (bottom right). Each is sketched with textured lines

We didn’t begin in the clean white glare of their charts. We arrived—yowling-growling-baying-howling, cawing, snarling—our half-formed, paws still muddy from an older place.  And they named us? No. They trapped us. In idea, in syllables that smelled of linoleum  & sharp metal. They called us boy-girl he-she—as if they could ever know what had birthed in that room. But we're not names. we're poetry & motion. we're shedding. we're becoming again & again, slick with moulting skin & seasons that do not obey clocks. They cannot pin us to the wall like a dead moth & call it truth. We don’t owe our shapes to the ones who tried to bind them. We don’t owe our hearts to a category. We do not remember being born, so why should we carry the weight of that first cage?  Let the forest remember us instead. Let our tracks in the dirt, our fur in the bramble, our voice in the long night be our real record. If we were once mistaken for something we're not—then so be it. we're not sacred because of what we were called. we're sacred because of what we're now. Breathing. Shifting. Choosing. Alive.  
Still reading this?
Dearest creature: Are you eating enough? Are you sleeping with your back pressed to one who knows your scent, your musk? Are you helping your packs find water, safety, moonlight? Do not forget your teeth are not just for defence. They are also for grooming. For play. For love, for cracking open new things. Exploring your world.
Be not defined nor categorised by those who tried to clip your wings or dull your teeth & claws. Define thyself by your every sacred heartbeat & keep going. Even when they wish us dead & gone.
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Lydia @coyoteprince.bsky.social · 17/10/2024
Something I didn't think possible
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CadmiumTea @cadmiumtea.bsky.social · 02/11/2023
“When the Stars were Higher” Brought on by a friend talking about missing the stars at night after moving to the city. 9x12, sold. #art
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stray/animals @creatureindex.bsky.social · 10/05/2025
Playmates
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Sable’d 🌲🍁 @mygooddogsable.bsky.social · 14/05/2025
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wolves ☉∇ ☣ 🏜️ @wolf.moda · 06/05/2025
laika
painting of a coyote from a side profile with red streaks on its muzzle in a field of tan and red brushstrokes
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wolves ☉∇ ☣ 🏜️ @wolf.moda · 29/04/2025
analog mess
a CRT screen with analog text "I will make this body my own" over a VHS still frame of the Nonhuman Unity Flag
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gu g e @gug.bsky.social · 26/04/2025
Took some time at the craft fair to draw in my sketchbook.
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Overcaffeinated-Paranoia @ BLFC baaybeeee @ovrcffntedprnoia.bsky.social · 04/02/2025
One of my faves from the past few years, originally paint on canvas (this is a photo of a print) #othrkin #therian #alterhuman #creauture #wolf
wolf monster snarls upward, mouth open, and with a forked tongue. vibrating lines all around
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Jolyne Auntie G. @jolynegcoyote.bsky.social · 22/04/2025
Im in this business now, apparently Edit by a friend
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Lockheed Skunk @lockheedskunk.bsky.social · 22/02/2025
Another yote doodle! Playing around with some markers again!
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Many Nightshades 🌘& θΔ @shyra-shifter.bsky.social · 09/04/2025
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Uncollared Disperser @goopypanther.bsky.social · 11/04/2025
Opening our coin purse with clumsy paws and several Δ Θ ☉ Δ Δ Θ ☉ Θ ∇ Δ fall out
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Clover @ BLFC @phenokage.bsky.social · 09/04/2025
it’s fun to have fun!
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That’s a Thingy 🫐 @somesortofyote.bsky.social · 08/04/2025
bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark
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ciel & the firmament girls @konkondragon.bsky.social · 04/04/2025
mizutsune is a trans lesbian, to me,
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Valentin Zessinthal :: Endless River @varietyofdogs.com · 02/04/2025
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Cynosura @cynosurae.bsky.social · 31/03/2025
It's damn near impossible to get coyote pups to sit still for a family photo. wonderfully sweet art by @vanillayote.bsky.social !
A framed photo on a shelf of a happy-looking coyote with three pups, and a speech bubble from offscreen saying "She's an odd one, but I'm still proud of my daughter."
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wolves ☉∇ ☣ 🏜️ @wolf.moda · 03/01/2025
canis latransgender
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That’s a Thingy 🫐 @somesortofyote.bsky.social · 28/03/2025
I am gnawing on your hand and whining, wyd
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wolves ☉∇ ☣ 🏜️ @wolf.moda · 25/03/2025
I'm small on the ground I roll around
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miah 🔜 blfc @sergals.bsky.social · 22/03/2025
picture of a wolf with a face covered in blood captioned:
top text: "GIRLS NIGHT WAHOO"
bottom text: "GET READY FOR GIRLS NIGHT"
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MountainPanther @afterdusk10.bsky.social · 14/03/2025
Monday will be both Saint Patrick’s Day and also the start of Coyote Awareness Week. projectcoyote.org/inspire/coyo...
projectcoyote.org
Coyote Awareness Week - Project Coyote
We invite you to join us for Coyote Awareness Week as we highlight coyotes! We'll explore their ecological significance, offer coexistence tips to shed light on the challenges they face, and showcase ...
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-Rain- @vanillayote.bsky.social · 16/03/2025
Eh. -mixed media on glass. 2025 CW: implied blood #art #traditionalart
A mixed media painting on glass. A red dog with white outlines is surrounded by patchy pink and white color. It has a collar of spikes. It is crying but also looks angry. The text reads "I'm fine." The same mixed media art, this time held up to let light shine through the glass. The silhouette of the dog is now in red, with its features obscured by splotchy red color.  The same mixed media piece as before, but the photo is taken at an angle to show the eerie green-yellow glow of muddled paint and ink in the reflection of the light. From this angle you can also see the raised medium used to create the tears.
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ncn @ncn.dog · 12/03/2025
ppl should be nice to coyotes...
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Very Scary Coyote Party @remmyzilla.bsky.social · 27/02/2025
Swiggity swooty coming for your ever-eroding grasp of human identity as my natural range encroached upon not just your habitat, but your psyche
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coyote in the dark 🔒 @cynosura-ad.bsky.social · 28/02/2025
Please leave your message after the beep. [beep] hey boss, sorry that I haven’t showed up for work in months, a nature god turned me into a coyote. I’m just calling to let you know that I’ve decided to be an animal full-time, so you can consider this my resignation. bye! [click]
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coyote in the dark 🔒 @cynosura-ad.bsky.social · 06/03/2025
recently-turned coyote realizing she has to figure out a way to convince a vet to give her shots
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Feve @brizunzies.bsky.social · 04/03/2025
STAY HUNGRY
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coyote in the dark 🔒 @cynosura-ad.bsky.social · 19/02/2025
ex-human that really enjoys fucking with lone hikers and campers, because nobody will ever believe them
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That’s a Thingy 🫐 @somesortofyote.bsky.social · 03/03/2025
Pro tip: you can bite people and your yote venom will turn them into yotes. Easy trick for a quick pack on the go
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That’s a Thingy 🫐 @somesortofyote.bsky.social · 24/02/2025
Could a hyperpop song about cannibalism be considered a therian psalm
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Shey @strflr.bsky.social · 22/02/2025
SMILE FOR THE CAMERAS (album content warning)
A painting of a purple wolf sitting, tail between legs, head lifted and baring its teeth in a strained smile. The background is a splattering of colours. The outline of large roses frame its head, along with some four-pointed stars- some stars melting down onto and around the wolf.
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