Our group of five met at Wolf Haven, a narrow yard that resembles a dog show agility course. Before we could cavort with the wolves, Megan Glosson, a zoological supervisor, needed to first train us. She described the teaching process, tossing out such instructive phrases as “positive reinforcement,” “bridging stimulus” and “LRS,” or least reinforcing scenario, which basically means that the wild animals are never forced to perform and are free to go about their wolf business at any time.

The rescue animals have learned 45 to 100 behaviors, such as how to move from one spot to another (called A to B), jump over hurdles and nose-kiss a ball. When my turn arrived, I stood on a Juliet balcony with Megan and shouted, “Ball!” Kitchi jumped off the pedestal, leaped into the air and gently touched his nose to the dangling orb. Contact made. I shouted an encouraging “OK!” and tossed him a meaty treat, which he snapped up with open jaws.

What a good Canis lupus.

The colonials

Agent 368 and I got off to a rough start.

“Madam, you will put us in danger,” the female revolutionary said to me sternly. “Do you really want to put all of these people in danger?”

The rebel in me wanted to respond, “Hey, Little Miss Revolution, if this really is 1776, then you don’t even know what a Canon point-and-shoot camera is!” But instead I lowered my camera and meekly said, “No, I don’t.” I was determined to stay within the confines of the game and the era.

One aspect of Colonial Williamsburg never changes: The enactors do not break character. But to its credit, Colonial Williamsburg knows that to keep its guests engaged, especially those from Generation OMG, it must cross enemy lines into the 21st century. In 2011, it introduced “RevQuest: Save the Revolution!,” a scavenger hunt based on traditional sleuthing and text messaging.

“This is made for kids,” said Frankie Klaff, a child psychologist whose two grandchildren were racing around Revolutionary City with her iPhone. “It combines an old-fashioned treasure hunt with what kids relate to — texting.”

The game features three rolling installments with different plotlines, characters, challenges and conclusions. When I purchased my admission ticket, I received a packet stamped with “Secret,” plus a bright red bandanna. I was officially a Questor. According to the materials, I was about to set out on a mission to “Avert the Crisis and Save the Revolution.” No pressure.

A thin pamphlet provided long poetic clues and a text number I would punch in for additional information. After receiving our orders from 368 — “We will meet again. If so, it will be as strangers” — I set off, heading east across the green, as instructed. However, instead of trying to decipher the clue, I decided to change tactics. I would form a troop of Questors; Frankie donated her grandkids to my cause.

Tali, 11, and Cale, 8, were invaluable compatriots. They were resourceful: When we had to look for a torn sheet of paper in a “dreaded” place, Tali flicked on the flashlight app on her grandmother’s iPhone. And they were dogged: After three texts informing us that “Some trickster, perhaps, has led you astray,” Cale finally cracked the code.

Hours later, we reached the Resolution, where a patriot awaited. For our efforts, he gave us a special coin (I oddly earned two) and a card with a website, in case we cared to submit any comments.

“Did you have fun saving this country?” asked the patriot. “If you want to save it again, come back in June.”

In Colonial Williamsburg, the revolution never ends, and America will always need me. That’s reason enough to come back.