When I was a small child, I saw the Big, Bad Wolf in person. (Perhaps "in person" is not quite an accurate term, but I know of no lupine equivalent. "In wolf"?) I was playing alone in my friend's front yard. He was on vacation, but his house featured the best wall for bouncing a tennis ball in the neighborhood, and I wickedly availed myself of it.

At one point, I turned around, looked down the street toward my own house, and saw them approaching. A large, anthropomorphic wolf was walking down the sidewalk on his hind legs. He was fully dressed in a suit of old-fashioned men's clothing, including a top hat; an old woman (an old human woman), attired from the same era, was by his side. Terrified and fascinated, I watched them advance at a leisurely pace.

The Big, Bad Wolf was a grotesque being. He drooled and snarled, lolling his tongue around his fanged snout. He was entirely wolf-like, except for his natty clothes and companionable saunter--so obviously a wolf that I was shocked when he transformed into a man as they drew nearer. (His suit remained the same, except the top hat melted away, revealing a head of thinning, slicked-down hair.) The old woman appeared oblivious to this metamorphosis. They passed me without a word, both turning to stare as if I were a moderately interesting zoological specimen, and vanished around the corner.