Recycled Research

Here’s an instance where I broke the cardinal rule of physical interaction with an animal. A coyote to be more precise. I’m not Grizzly Adams by any means and cannot communicate with the critters and that narrow-minded train of thought leaves the door wide open for trouble. In fact two words come to mind on that subject – Timothy Treadwell.

I had just moved into my log cabin and began to unpack when I noticed something in the yard. A coyote. Although I knew better I felt like I was the intruder here as the cabin itself had been vacant for years. I retrieved a peace offering for my visitor from one of the many boxes strewn about the cabin that had yet to be unpacked. Ah, a fresh hotdog bun. I tossed the bread into the yard and he readily accepted the offering stopping momentarily to look back over his shoulder before disappearing into the darkness. I reflected on the scene for a moment and never expected to see him again but as we know association can lead to dependancy or confrontation. After all, a coyote is a very capable and cunning predator. This opportunity could present some very good research notes and, although I knew better, I failed to listen to myself.

Two nights later as I was sitting on the patio enjoying the melodic tune from the frogs in the distant swamp the coyote appeared again. We sat staring at each other from barely more than 10 yards. His outline and features were hardly discernable with the dim light shining out from the cabin yet he appeared to be calm. I spoke in a normal voice “I’ll bet you want another treat?” He just sat there as if he understood he was in no danger and like a typical canine tilted his head slightly. I rose from the chair and he trotted off like he had an appointment to keep. I began to wonder why he was alone and not in the safety of a pack.

After an entire week I figured the bouncy little coyote had found his way to something more closely associated to a coyotes typical lifestyle. It was mid-afternoon on a weekday when I caught him peering from behind a tall patch of thistle. I retrieved several slices of bread from the cabin and threw one to the ground 10 feet or so from my feet. He cautiously made his way over, snatched the bread, and ran to the edge of the yard where he ate in safety. As not to appear so opposing I sat on the grass and lobbed another slice of bread just passed my feet. Again, he repeated the movement of retrieval but shortened the distance before stopping to eat. On the third attempt I held the bread in my hand as the coyote approached. I felt the anticipation and adrenaline rise but the coyote stopped just short and I dropped the bread to the ground. At this distance our eyes locked and for a moment my own rules of negating any interaction came pouring back to life. I believe he understood the heigthened sense of awareness in some form but like I have mentioned, I cannot communicate with the critters. I can say for sure that at this distance, I could have counted the taste buds on his tounge. In one last effort to show my trust I laid flat on my back with a piece of bread in each outstretched hand, eyes closed, and listened. It wasnt long before I heard the unmistakable sound of grass underfoot and, in a second, a piece of bread was stripped from my right hand. The coyote gingerly walked around my head to the left hand and took that bread as gently as handing it to a human. With my heart beating a mile a minute I opened my eyes and tipped my head forward to see the coyote walking away and, a now ex-wife, begins to shout in a tone I could never reproduce, “Are You Crazy?!?!” I simply smile and say nothing.

During the next couple weeks we watched the coyote come and go on his own as we became intimately familiar with his markings and characteristics. He would stop and snoop around the place but never really stayed for any length of time like he had in previous days. It was near the end of the second week when I noticed the coyote and our male cat in the yard within close proximity. The cat, who was extremely territorial, kept approaching the coyote who would just jump to the side as if he were playing. At one point the coyote walked directly up to the cat, layed flat on his stomach, and stretched the underside of his muzzle flat across the ground. It appeared to be a subserviant gesture. The cat chose to strike, lashing the coyote across it’s snout with outstretched claws. Both ran into the woods where apparently the coyote finally took his revenge. Although the cat survived it was nearly 2 weeks before it could walk any amount of distance. It was shortly after when a pack of coyotes began running at night. We had found an area just short of our yard where the pack had run-down a deer, killed it, and ate until they had their fill nearly outside of our bedroom window. My last sight of the friendly coyote was believed to be at the edge of the yard. It’s muzzle stained red from feasting on the remains of the fallen deer. Whether he was part of that pack was never confirmed but I doubt he was included. It shows how a wild animal is always wild and the danger you can put yourself in through physical interaction. Although I was personally never harmed the probability was always there and that type of research is never worth the price.

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