Photo from here.It’s January and I’ve been seeing the coyotes, so I thought of this old post. The original posting had 15 comments with coyote stories. Everyone, it seems, has one. What’s yours?
I’ve been thinking that I should write a blog post about coyotes, so in preparation, I started doing a little research. I can sum up all the material I found in one word: boring. And coyotes—for those who’ve had no coyote encounters and might not know—are not boring. Here, then, is the plan: Phfft! to all the reference articles, and forward ho! without them.
Let’s talk first about what we call these wild dogs. Did you know that they have them in northern Minnesota where I grew up, but they don’t call them coyotes? They call them brush wolves. Old farmers there will tell you that northern Minnesota has no coyotes, only timber wolves and brush wolves, but a coyote by any other name is still a coyote. What’s more, even when we agree that the word coyote is their proper name, we may not agree on how to pronounce it. My dad, a Kansas farm kid turned Colorado cowboy, calls them ky-oats (first syllable rhymes with sky, second syllable with porridge, accent on the first syllable), but in the Yukon and almost everywhere else, they’re called ky-oat-tees (sky, porridge, type of shirt, accent on the second syllable). My dad always told me that only silly sissified city folk called them ky-oat-tees, but I’ve since learned that this is not completely accurate.
Here where I live, now is the time of year when we are most likely to have coyotes right around our homes. Food is more scarce in the bush during the dead of winter, so coyotes come to town to wander the streets looking for tasty garbage or available small pets. Several years ago, on a forty below day, I walked to my local elementary school to do some reading with students. As I approached the school, I noticed a coyote digging through the garbage can right next to the main entrance of the school. He saw me, grabbed a full lunch bag in his mouth and trotted off. Lately we’ve had a coyote strolling the street in front of our house, and I suspect that when the garbage can beside the house was overturned and the remains our yummy food garbage spread down the driveway, across the street, and on into the bush, it was coyote work.
The small pet thing is the reason we don’t let our cat Leroy outside except by mistake. Sure he’s sixteen pound of pure muscle and afraid of nothing—some of the local big dogs have lost fights with him—but he’s no roadrunner. Neither was our previous dog, an old, deaf, lame Samoyed, who had his own won’t-you-be-my-dinner run-in with coyotes.
Here’s the story, but I’ll give you fair warning: The dog doesn’t die in the end, so this one won’t win a Newbery Medal for children’s literature. On a January morning several years ago, I left the gate open while fetching something from the garage. The dog wandered out, as he often did, and I thought nothing much of it. He’d often go down the street a bit, greet anyone out and about, and make his way home again. No worry, right? But that day something bothered me and I went out to fetch him just in time to see him loping off into the bush after a coyote. Then I saw the second coyote fold in behind from out of nowhere and I knew our old dog was a goner. He was deaf, remember, so calling him back to me was useless. But he turned, glanced back and saw me, and I motioned for him to come. For once in his life, he obeyed on command, and it saved his live.
Part of what makes coyotes so interesting is that they’re not especially frightened of us. Perhaps that’s why they’ve adapted so well—perhaps too well—to the spread of civilization. Every few years, someone here in Whitehorse has a run-in with a coyote. I don’t think anyone’s been bitten, but if I remember correctly, a woman carrying a bag of groceries had one tug on her clothing with his teeth. I suspect he was more interested in eating her groceries than eating her, but I’m not volunteering to be the guinea pig to test out my hypothesis.
Not only are coyotes not scared of us, but they can be interested in what we’re doing. A few days ago, oldest son was whistling a tune in the house while the friendly neighbourhood coyote was traipsing by. The coyote stopped in front of the house, looked toward the window, cocked his head and listened for 15 seconds or so before he went on his way. What do you suppose he was thinking?
Sometimes, if you howl outside at night, the coyotes will howl back. Don’t be fooled into thinking that you’ve tricked them and they think you’re just another coyote. They know who you are, and we know this because coyote howls responding to humans are less complex than howls responding to other coyotes. They know who we are and they’re dumbing it down for us.
One last thing I’ve noticed about coyotes is that, for the most part, they are wild dogs on a mission. When you take your family dog for a walk unleashed, she probably darts here and there, sniffing this and that. Not so with the coyote. Coyotes do not stop to smell the roses and only pause briefly to hear the whistling. Once or twice, I’ve seen a pair of coyotes romping around, but most often, they are traveling in a bee-line to wherever it is they are going. They are business travelers only and workaholics. Do you think that’s the key to their success?
Serendipitous morsel: Today’s final jeopardy answer was, “The middle initial for this 1949 movie critter stands for Ethelbert.” Do you know the question?
And while we’re at it, do you have a coyote tidbit or story to share? No reference material allowed!