*It’s Colassal’s Dire Wolf on the cover of Time.*

There’s something ancient and haunting about the idea of a dire wolf. Not just the Game of Thrones version, but the real thing—a massive predator that once roamed the Americas, now extinct for over 10,000 years.

And now, thanks to Colossal Biosciences, it might be coming back.

Or… something that looks like it.

This week, Colossal announced progress on creating a genetically engineered “dire wolf”—not a perfect resurrection, but a modern hybrid with dire wolf traits, bred from existing canid species.

Powerful. Bigger. Ancient in look, new in design.

It’s the kind of headline that makes you sit back and ask: What are we actually doing here?

Are We Saving Species, or Rebuilding Them?

The most frequent criticism of Colossal’s work is a simple one:
Why are we trying to bring back animals that are already gone… when we can’t seem to protect the ones we still have?

And it's a fair question.

Take red wolves. Fewer than 20 survive in the wild. Their genetics are a mess—decimated by bottlenecks, inbreeding, and habitat loss. But Colossal is also working on cloning red wolves to help strengthen their gene pool and possibly reintroduce viable, healthier animals into the ecosystem.

Colassal has already created three cloned red wolves.

To some, that’s playing god. To others, it’s the only chance this species has left.

There is enough DNA from this 39,000 year old cave bear to help bring back this species… *the question is, should we?*

But here’s where it gets complicated:
If cloning works, and species can be brought back or “restored” in a lab… what happens to our sense of urgency to protect the wild in the first place?

What happens when politicians or the public say: “Let them die off—we can always bring it back later”?

That’s not science fiction anymore.

That’s happening now.

I’ll admit—a big part of me wants to see a mammoth walk the tundra. Or a dodo waddle through a misty jungle. Or hear a thylacine call echo through the trees.

My passion for wildlife wants to believe this is a good thing.

A hopeful thing.

But I know this isn't a rewind button on extinction. What’s being created is not truly what we lost. These are new animals—genetically influenced descendants, not perfect replicas. They may look like what once was, but they’re built from fragments, pieced together with modern tools.

It’s not resurrection. It’s reimagining.

And we have to ask ourselves—what’s the real reason behind all of this?
Are we doing it to fix what we’ve broken?
To scratch that scientific itch… because we can?
Or are we doing it just because it’ll make a dump truck full of money?

*Lyuba the baby mammoth found in Siberia… displayed in Kalinigrad, Russia*

Red wolves might survive now thanks to cloning—but are they still wild if their survival comes from a lab?

Some conservationists argue that these efforts create “GMO animals,” not true reflections of nature. Others see it as an evolution of conservation—using new tools to fix old damage.

The truth probably lies somewhere in between.

If a cloned red wolf mates with a wild one, and their pups thrive in the swamps of North Carolina, does it really matter how the lineage got a second chance?

If nature accepts them, maybe we should too.

Colossal isn’t just playing with DNA. They’re forcing a conversation we all need to have—about what it means to protect life, to restore it, and to possibly recreate it.

And I’ll be honest—I’m a torn soul in all of this.

Colossal claims the mammoth will return in 2028.

Because the moment a woolly mammoth walks again, or a thylacine is spotted moving through the forest, I’ll be the first in line to see it.

That’s the animal lover in me.

That’s ten years old me; cross-legged on the floor, flipping through dinosaur books, wishing I could reach through the pages and be there.

So yes, part of me wants this… Desperately.

And another part wonders what it really means if we do succeed in bring back extinct species.

I don’t have all the answers. I just know I want a future where wild animals don’t only exist because someone built them.

I want to stand on the edge of a forest or a beach or a frozen tundra, and see something real move through it… ancient, untamed, and still here.

If we use science to help that happen, not just in labs, but in the wild, then maybe we’re not playing god.

Maybe we’re just trying to make things right… Before it’s too late.

My daughter Sophia and I have been visiting one of our local state parks—Bentsen State Park—for the past four months (whenever I’m home). Specifically, we’ve been returning again and again to one of the park’s bird feeding stations.

Why?

Because of a bobcat that has been stalking the feeder almost daily.

When we found out that bobcats had been spotted in the area, we knew this was where we needed to be.

Our first encounter with a cat here happened by accident. We were walking around the park center, photographing birds, when we spotted a bobcat casually walking by one of the buildings. Sophia and I dropped our gear and started firing off shots. We followed the cat as it strolled away, capturing images—mostly of its butt and tail—as it slipped back into the brush.

We were on fire. That moment sealed it for both of us. We were instantly hooked.

That was the beginning of our obsession.

I started researching other places where we might reliably see bobcats. There are a few parks where they’re known to appear, especially during the heat of summer when water is scarce and they’re drawn to park water features. But this was winter, and there was water everywhere—so that option was out.

Then came a rumor: a bobcat had been seen visiting one of the bird feeders at Bentsen Park. The feeders are set up during fall migration and maintained throughout winter. We decided to follow up and see if the rumor was true.

Happy to report—it was.

At first, the sightings were rare. Sophia had to get used to the idea of sitting still for long stretches, hoping for a glimpse. That’s the hardest part of this type of photography—long hours of waiting, with no guarantees.

There were plenty of missed opportunities. Sometimes the cat had already made a successful hunt and left before we arrived. Other days it was a no-show. And winter weather didn’t help—cold, wet, and windy conditions made the waiting tough, especially for Sophia, who doesn’t handle the cold well.

After a few weeks of frustration, the bobcat finally appeared. It stepped out of the bush, gave me a few precious seconds, and disappeared again. I fired off a few shots—nothing perfect, but it was a win. Sophia had stayed home that morning. She was exhausted from the endless waiting. When I texted her the photos, she was crushed. She sulked the rest of the day.

Bad image of the cats failed attempt at feeder birds

We kept going back. More misses, more no-shows. Then, another glimpse. The bobcat tried to grab a bird at the feeder—it jumped, missed, and glanced at me before disappearing into the brush again. Later that day, as I was leaving, I saw the cat walking alongside the road. I shot like crazy as it crossed in front of me. It was a great day. But once again... Sophia wasn’t with me. Her cousins were visiting, so she stayed in. She was not a happy camper.

February 24 – We arrived early, set up our tripods, and settled into the routine. A red-winged blackbird landed on the water feature, and suddenly, our cat exploded out of the grass, trying to snatch the bird. Missed. He slipped back into cover.

*Sophia killing time waiting for our cat.*

An hour later, he tried again—and missed again. But we got some fun shots. And this time, Sophia was there. She was on fire. She finally got her bobcat. She named her Bob.

Now that we both had images of her, it was time to raise the bar. We wanted to photograph Bob during a successful hunt.

Over the next few days, we returned to the feeder. But no luck—either Bob didn’t show, or there were no birds for her to stalk. Still, our motivation was back. We were ready to wait as long as it took.

We didn’t have to wait long.

This morning, we returned to the feeder, set up our cameras, and began the wait. Soon, the park volunteers came to refill the feeders. Within 30 minutes, a flock of blackbirds had settled in, totally relaxed. Two of them dropped down to the water feature.

We were ready.

Seconds later, Bob exploded out of the grass and caught one of the birds right in front of us. We fired away—image after image—until our memory cards couldn’t keep up, and the cameras slowed to shooting one frame at a time.

It was frustrating... and perfect.

We got the shot! A successful hunt.

I threw up my hands in victory and let out a yell. A few people were nearby, including a couple from Canada who had also been stalking this bobcat.

We all high-fived. It was bittersweet—a bird lost its life, but in doing so, it gave this bobcat another day in the wild… The circle of life thing.

Sophia and I hugged tight. We’d done it. We achieved our goal.

We got home, feeling full. Happy with the images, happy with the moment. We thought we might move on to our next target—a gray fox that’s been spotted at Edinburg Wetlands.

But... we’re not ready to leave Bob just yet.

The feeders are staying up until the end of April, which gives us two more months to spend time with this incredible cat.

So tomorrow, at 6:30 AM, we’ll be there again.
Waiting. Watching.
Hoping for another moment with our wild friend.

Playing with Extinction: Dire Wolves, Red Wolves, and the New Wild

Are We Saving Species, or Rebuilding Them?

Photographing Bob the Bobcat. A South Texas Wildlife Story