Back in the olden days, when I was young, we had a Dungeons and Dragons campaign where I, the noble Dungeon Master, allowed the players to adopt wolf (or dire wolf–forgive me, this was twenty-seven years ago, so I am a little hazy on this point) cubs and raise them.
So my brother and the two Jimmies eventually suited them up in armor and then mounted a sword on their backs so the wolves could charge opponents in attacks.
In our minds, it looked something like this:
Except that’s armor for cats.
We might need some since we had a new tabby scouting our back door last night for a possible invasion.
(Link via Instapundit.)