Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

Of course, as every chicken-owner knows, where there is poultry - there are predators. However, it seems that the wild dogs of the literary landscape are rather more appealing to humans than to domestic fowl.

Herewith, the beginnings of an arbitrary list...

Wolf Brother by Michelle Paver

Wolves in the Walls - Neil Gaiman & Dave McKean

Woolvs in the sitee - Maragret Wild & Anne Spudvilas

Lonesome Howl by Steven Herrick

White Fang by Jack London

The Big Bad Wolf

Fox - Margaret Wild & Ron Brooks*

Fantastic Mr Fox by Roald Dahl

Fox in Socks by Dr Seuss

Wombat & Fox Thrillseekers by Terry Denton

Foxy Loxy

Jacob Black (obvs) and his ever so alluring predecessor, Oz**

The weasels and stoats***

And how could we have a list of wild dogs without mentioning this:

* Oh Fox. How we love you, despite your betrayal - and we are shivering with the excitements about your handsome new hardcover edition (with cloth binding!) to celebrate the tenth anniversary of your original publication.

** As you may have noticed, rules, we relax em.

***The passage where Mole is hunted through the Wild Wood is so frightening and gives one such a good impression of what it might be like to be prey, that we thought we'd just remind you of it. ROWR (weasel roar).

From 'Chapter III - The Wild Wood', The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Graham

It was over his shoulder, and indistinctly, that he first thought he saw a face; a little evil wedge-shaped face, looking out at him from a hole. When he turned and confronted it, the thing had vanished.

He quickened his pace, telling himself cheerfully not to begin imagining things, or there would be simply no end to it. He passed another hole, and another, and another; and then--yes!-- no!--yes! certainly a little narrow face, with hard eyes, had flashed up for an instant from a hole, and was gone. He hesitated--braced himself up for an effort and strode on. Then suddenly, and as if it had been so all the time, every hole, far and near, and there were hundreds of them, seemed to possess its face, coming and going rapidly, all fixing on him glances of malice and hatred: all hard-eyed and evil and sharp.

If he could only get away from the holes in the banks, he thought, there would be no more faces. He swung off the path and plunged into the untrodden places of the wood.

Then the whistling began.

Very faint and shrill it was, and far behind him, when first he heard it; but somehow it made him hurry forward. Then, still very faint and shrill, it sounded far ahead of him, and made him hesitate and want to go back. As he halted in indecision it broke out on either side, and seemed to be caught up and passed on throughout the whole length of the wood to its farthest limit. They were up and alert and ready, evidently, whoever they were! And he--he was alone, and unarmed, and far from any help; and the night was closing in.

Then the pattering began.