Coyote

{There is no sex at ALL in this tale.)

+++

I sighted carefully on the gray animal, the big female had just stepped past the huge mass of blackberry bushes. One of her pups had eagerly appeared first, it wasn't the one I wanted, not really. I knew the bitch would be not too far behind.

It was coming up on 10 PM, in late July it stays light fairly late, now it was dark enough that I could see but barely. The animals moved like ghosts.

The electronic caller I had set up and hidden in the grass was squealing, it sounded just like a Rabbit that was hurt. The pup leaped and then was directly over the speaker.

It hesitated, expecting there to be a creature to grab, then realizing something was wrong, started to turn.

"Pop pop!" I put two rounds into the big female, right through the side of her chest from less than 20 feet away.

Then I swung the little .22 caliber auto loader towards the pup.

Coyotes are like crazy video games when surprised, they explode into motion and head every which way at once.

I managed to get off 13 more rounds in probably two seconds, maybe less. It didn't help that the second pup had appeared, breaking my concentration for just a moment.

At one point one was moving sideways to me, nearly flat on the ground, the other was coming directly at me in confusion.

All I hit was air.

+++

With 500 head of big fat Ewes in my southern pasture, doing what I just did was something I had to.

In late Summer and early Fall the big female Coyotes are busy training their pups, teaching them to kill. Of course, to survive they need to kill, it is the way of nature.

For me to survive, keep the baby lambs that are born, it falls to me to kill, also.

Distasteful is the best description of that process, I never liked having to do that at all.

As a boy growing up, my Father taught me the ways of the land. He was a hard man, and thought nothing at all of dropping every Coyote he saw.

I must have inherited a bit of my Mother's gentleness, because while I would shoot a Coyote, even drop one of my neighbor's dogs that sometimes slipped in and ripped the hell out of a flock of our Sheep, I never felt good about it.

I sighed, gathered up the big female and dragged her body to the barnyard, digging a hole and burying her.

Back at my house, I cleaned the rifle, reloaded it making sure a shell was in the chamber, then leaned it up against the wall behind the door.

+++

It was three days later I saw the signs once again, one big ram had fur pulled out of it's rear flank, and was limping.

I saw the blood on one rear leg, knew it was from a Coyote and not the typical sore foot Sheep get regularly.

That meant the pups were still at it, trying to kill something. But a full grown ram is not that easy for Coyote pups to handle, they need the big female to teach them what to do.

When Sheep run, which is their first defensive action, the chase is on. Pups run up behind and grab, getting a mouthful of wool.

Not understanding the need to go for the throat, often their efforts are a failure.

The baby lambs are quite another situation though.

Running my Honda 350 four trax up the back side of the place, I spotted the big Buzzards circling and knew.

Using their lead, I found the lamb, about a week old. The predator that made the kill was obvious, a Bear breaks the neck and feeds on the carcass, a Cougar picks it up and often takes it away. Dogs bite and slash at the hind quarters and will kill all they can catch.

Searching, I found the small tracks in nearby dirt.

Nothing to do but go back on the hunt.

+++

Two evenings in a row I lay out by the trail, Mosquitoes biting my neck and all I could do was lay there quietly and take it.

Nothing appeared.

I found two more lambs down, this was getting serious.

The 3rd evening, I stepped out onto my porch which is up high facing to the East. I can see most of that portion of the place from that vantage point.

Motion. I saw the grass move, then out stepped one of the Coyote pups. It's ears were up, alert.

I reached past the little .22 and grabbed the old Marlin .30-30, the range was too far for the light weapon.

The Coyote stepped further out of the Bulrush plants that filled one of the drainage ditches.

It was 120 yards easy, not a shot I could make with confidence. I sighted, squeezed off a round.

Down the animal went! That was when I saw the second one, it was running. I got off two rounds, levering the shells into the chamber as fast as I could but hitting a Coyote running flat out at 120 yards is not an easy thing to do.

The second one vanished into the bramble bushes. I hopped onto the Honda and rode out to collect the pup.

When I pulled up and shut off the engine, I saw it was still moving, it's hind leg twitching. I reached up and pulled my .45 caliber pistol I keep strapped to the handlebars, walked over to the animal.

Just as I sighted to finish it off, it opened it's eyes and looked at me.

It was a very young animal, probably less than a dozen pounds. I stood there and just could not fire the weapon. Glancing down, I could see it was a male, but it was so small I suddenly did not want to kill it.

I expected the animal to leap up and run but it didn't, it just lay there, panting. Reaching down, I grabbed it right behind the head, getting a good grip.

Coyotes can nearly turn inside their own hide and bite, those fangs were serious.

Even as a baby, the thing of course had very sharp teeth. But it hung from my hand, limp as a dishrag.

I had a roll of tape in the back of my ATV, I reached in and used it to tape the animal's mouth shut so it could not bite.

Then I taped it's hind feet.

I had already spotted the bloody slash across the back of it's skull, the round had skimmed bone but that was all.

Why, I do not know to this day but I loaded the critter onto the back of my bike and headed for the house.

I made it maybe 20 feet and all hell broke loose!

The thing managed to lunge enough to throw itself off the machine onto the ground, then even with it's mouth taped shut and only it's front feet free it was snarling and trying to run.

I had to chase it, using just it's front feet and trying to bound with it's rear legs, it took off at a pretty good clip.

I grabbed it again and taped it's other feet, then used more tape to hold it down on the back of my machine.

Lord was that thing snarling. It sounded like it it could get loose it would happily try to kill me.

"There, you little bastard!" I said, as it glared at me with one eye.

Back at the house, I put it in the pen I used for my Border Collies until they are trained enough to trust. The bottom edge of the woven wire is buried so they can't dig out, and high enough they can't get over it.

Getting the tape off of it was interesting, after I found some ointment and coated the two inch long gash in it's head.

Finally I used my pocket knife while wearing a set of welder's gloves.

It bit at me several times, once even piercing the glove, drawing blood.

I think it knew it got me, because it then retreated to a corner, looking at me with a satisfied expression.

I put in some food and water, not sure if it would have anything to do with that since my smell was on it, then I went up to the house and left it alone.

Four long days went by, each day I went down and just sat there, speaking softly, letting it get used to me.

All it did was stay in a tight little ball, jammed into a corner, those eyes never left me.

I named it Slash because of the now fast healing scar across the back of it's skull. I had thought of naming it Yoti the Coyote but that sounded silly.

Usually a wild animal caught like that just lays down and dies, it is what I expected it to do.

Stubborn, I kept up the visits, moving slowly, speaking softly. Those eyes never stopped staring at me.

The fourth day, I saw it had drank some of the water.

By the eighth day, it ate some of the food.

After three weeks, I could look out the window at the pen, Slash was now moving around, obviously looking for a way out.

Holes appeared alongside the fence line, but I had buried the wire deeply, even curling it backwards under the earth.

Then I saw one of my Collies approach the pen, at first Slash retreated. The Collie left, then returned again.

Finally one day they stood on each side of the wire and sniffed noses.

The Collie I called Jen was a big 40 pound female and more or less the boss around the house, and she had two pups of her own. I always thought that maybe, just maybe that was the key?

Things progressed until Slash no longer ran to a corner when I approached, the day he ate right in front of me was a great success.

By the end of six months, he would let me pet him without instantly turning to bite.

Using the food as a reward, I began to require Slash to do something to earn each bite. That took a very long time, then finally one day I saw his eyes change when I gave the command to sit and he plopped his rear down on his own.

Those eyes still watched me intently, but now the expression seemed to be one of curiosity rather than fear.

One day we were out in my training field, I had it surrounded by wire so it couldn't get out. I keep a half dozen of the older ewes in there. They know what to do when they see the Collies, so quickly the dogs understand what my whistles and hand motions mean, plus the ewes give them a little help.

I let Slash off of the lease to see what would happen, he sat there and watched as the young pups I was training moved the fat Sheep back and forth.

Just one week of that and I took Slash out there alone, he and I and the six ewes.

I gave the whistle that tells the Collies to go out around and move the ewes to the portable corral, Slash took off like a shot and in no time had the ewes in there.

Of course, at the sound of my whistle the ewes would have done it by themselves but Slash went right to the position he needed to be in, copying exactly what my Collies did.

"Well, I'll be damned." I mumbled to myself, handing him a little treat as his reward.

Glancing down, I saw Slash looking up at me with what I took to be a satisfied expression.

There was a moment there, it can't be explained. Slash and I had formed some kind of crazy bond.

At the end of a full year Slash slept at the foot of my bed.

I had never even allowed the Collies to do that, those are not pets, they are tools.

What was Slash? I have to say I just do not know. A friend, perhaps?

+++

Word got around, in our area of the world most of the other ranchers run Sheep, a few cattle.

One day I was sitting on the porch and I looked up to see Henry Wilcox coming down my road in his impossibly dirty green Chevrolet pickup.

Slash retreated long before he came into sight, just like he did when Sherry, our mail lady came by, or the meter reader, anyone at all that was not me.

Slash hid from everyone.

"Hello, Dan." Henry climbed out. Henry was around 70 years old or so, he had two steel legs which one would think would slow a man down but it sure didn't seem to.

"Henry. Good to see you! Grab a beer, there is some in the cooler." I waved at the small ice chest I had sitting on the porch.

Henry made that odd looking swing of his hips as he set first one foot on the step, then swung up, then the other foot and repeated the motion.

Walking on flat ground you couldn't really tell he had artificial legs, but climbing he of course had to find his balance at each step.

"What's this I hear you been raising a damned Coyote?" He asked, the moment he sat down. Henry was not known at all for beating around any bushes, he was a gruff and no nonsense kind of guy.

Of course he had Arthritis in every joint, and a perpetual scowl that made folks that don't know him think he was mad at them.

"Yea, just a pup. I have him tamed."

"Ain't no way in hell you can tame one of them filthy things." Henry tipped back his can of beer and drank half of it in one pull.

"Seems like I can." I told him.

"Where is it then?" Henry demanded.

"Under the porch, he doesn't like strangers much."

"Under the porch? You mean, right here?"

"Yea."

"Jesus Christ, Dan. You need to get rid of the fucking thing, next thing I know it will be sneaking over and killing my lambs."

"Naw. I already have Slash running with my dogs. He knows about Sheep."

"Yea, sure. Reason I am here, I lost four head over the last week." Henry's tone went bitter.

"It isn't Slash, he sleeps inside in my bedroom." I told him.

"Yea, well, I see it I will put a bullet into it." Henry growled.

"If he gets over there, you go right ahead and do that, but if he is on my side you best be careful I don't see that." I told him.

"I will shoot every fucking Coyote I see!" Henry snorted, setting down the empty can. He got up and made his way carefully down my steps.

"I mean it, Dan." He said, stopping at his truck.

"Well, I just told you, Henry. You be staying off my land, Slash isn't going to give you any troubles."

Henry glared at me but got into his truck and left.

+++

It was only about a week later, Slash and I were headed to the barn to put out grain for my flock.

It was getting close to time to load up this year's big lambs for market. It had been a good year, we had lost just one ewe that had gotten down on her side and was so fat she couldn't get back to her feet.

I make the run twice each day and sometimes find one or two down. If I get there in time I roll them back upright and off they go, this one was down behind some brush and I missed her.

While I was dealing with that Slash took off, a few seconds later I heard him tip his head back a howl. I went over there, he had found another ewe down on her side and let me know.

I rolled her back upright and she took off in panic, then I reached down and patted Slash on the head. He stuck his tongue out happily.

Now he walked along with me towards the barn, I glanced down at him.

Coyotes don't get real big, maybe 35-40 pounds is about all. Food can be hard to come by out in the wild is why.

Slash was coming up on 60 pounds and still growing.

The truth was he looked to be a bit intimidating, I understood that. Lately in town there had been a few comments, local folks don't like Coyotes very much.

I just figured it was none of their business.

Just as we got to the barn, I saw the deputy coming down my driveway.

Slash instantly headed for the porch, vanishing underneath it. But the deputy saw him since it was about 200 yards to the house.

"Hi, Dan." He said, getting out.

"How's things, Carl?" I asked.

"About like always. You know why I am here, got a complaint."

"About what?" I asked, yes, already knowing.

"You raising Coyotes. They are wild animals, that is against the law."

I knew about that part, and figured it would crop up sooner or later.

"Hell, Carl. It's just a Coyote, and Slash is all trained. He even works my Sheep with the Collies, he won't hurt one of them." I protested.

"Henry down the road says he lost four more lambs, and he says it has to be yours that is doing it." Carl looked towards the house.

"Lots of Coyotes around here, Carl." I told him.

"None the size of what Henry says that thing of yours is."

I didn't answer.

"I got to see him, Dan." Carl said finally after sizing me up.

"All right. But I need you to get back in your truck." Carl looked at me but went over and got in.

I walked over to the porch, it took a bit of coaxing but Slash finally came out. I could tell he was extremely nervous, he kept glancing over to where Carl was.

I walked him to the training pen, put him in and shut the door. Then I waved over to Carl.

The moment he got out, Slash retreated to the far corner and turned to face him. As Carl walked up, Slash bared his teeth.

"Man, he is big, isn't he? He don't look very damned friendly, either."

"He is friendly with me." I looked at Slash, told him to sit.

He instantly sat down, but kept his teeth bared.

"So. You say he doesn't ever get out?" Carl asked.

"He is free to come and go as he pleases, he just always stays with me." I told him.

"I thought you said he never gets out?"

"I said he just never leaves my side, unless someone comes around. Like I said, he isn't my Coyote, he just hangs around because he wants to."

That was a very lame explanation, I knew, but it was the best excuse I could come up with.

I mean, if a wild animal sticks around because it wants to, is that my fault?

"Dan, we have to pick him up. We have to stop this, Henry is raising hell."

"Fuck Henry, Slash isn't causing any troubles." I told him, getting a sick feeling.

But there wasn't a damn thing in the world I could do about what I knew was going to happen.

+++

That afternoon, a crew showed up. They ended up shooting Slash with a dart gun.

I guess the best description is that I was mad as an old wet hen. They were all eyeballing me, I had my pistol strapped onto my hip but managed to keep enough control to not start using it when I saw Slash go down.

Slash trusted me fro some reason and I felt like I had let him down.

They were smart enough to put Slash in a cage all by himself but it was terribly small.

I drove down and talked to him but he was not responding well.

"I will get you out of here, Slash." I told him. His dark eyes looked at me, it almost broke my heart.

Over the next few weeks, I had to drive into town every day to feed him, Slash refused to touch anything that anyone else gave him.

Plus everyone had to leave the room, if anyone else was nearby he would not feed, would not respond except to display his teeth.

They would not let me in the cage with him, but I could touch him though the bars. After a few days, he came willingly to me, even licked my hand.

I kept telling him I was going to get him out of there, it was almost like that calmed him down, like he understood?

Probably just my familiar soft tone of voice of course but I felt like that.

Every day I had to leave to care for my own animals, then I hired a crew that year to haul my lambs to market.

Finally came the day of the court hearing.

+++

The surprise was it went fairly quickly, I spoke about how Slash and I had become friends, how he worked my flock just like my dogs did.

I didn't mention that I had first shot him, not wanting to give them any ideas.

The key was when I explained that the animal was free to come and go as he pleased, so it was not me keeping a wild creature against the law, he stayed because it was his choice.

"You feed him, don't you?" I was asked.

"I put food out for my dogs, if the animal wants to come in and join them it's no different than if any Coyote sneaked in and found the food dish."

"He is feeding that thing!" Old Henry yelled out but the judge shushed him.

"It's no different than if a Deer comes down into your garden!" I retorted loudly, getting myself shushed.

That was a bit of a reach but I saw the judge nod his head.

"There is no evidence that this animal has harmed any livestock at all. So I can't order it destroyed." The judge said.

"I order the State to release the animal back into the wild." The judge looked at me, then banged his gavel.

I was miserable and happy at the same time on the way home that night.

I had lost a friend that I had crazily become attached to, but I had managed to save his life.

+++

Where they took Slash, I have no idea. They refused to tell me. But at least they didn't put him down.

I went back to my ranch, back to my work.

Winter came and went, then it was Spring and the early lambs arrived. By the middle of Summer, I took stock of things. I had lost just one Lamb, that one was taken by Buzzards that had come down on a ewe in labor.