The heft of it in my hand was surprising.  I had heard about The Werewolf Tooth for several weeks leading up to this moment of it resting in my hand.  When the discovery of it  had first been described to me, I envisioned a large and aged canine tooth. But the reality of it was more jagged molar. The business part of the thing looking like a topographical map of a distant alien world  in the far reaches of space or at the bottom of Earth's oceans. The part imagined to be the incisor- actually the root of the tooth.  The color was a storm gray basalt.  The surface smooth like a wind formed ice pond.
     The tribe of four year olds all knew the myth of the tooth. It had been excavated in the back yard of the school one late fall afternoon and was immediately recognized for the treasure that it was.  As luck would have it right after Thanksgiving, my wife and I had visited the surprisingly bustling International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, so I too, was savvy to the value of this great discovery.  Forty five years separate me from my daughter and her classmates, but the wonder and excitement, vision and creativity of the unknown knows no age limits-if we are lucky.