Coyotes, howling

Early Sunday morning, at about 3.00 am, I awoke to the howling of coyotes. Really their sound is somehow a mixture of a bark, yip, yodel, and howl, very different from either wolves or most domesticated dogs. It is a high ululation, an uncanny, almost eldritch dialogue between wild animals. And these coyotes – there were at least two of them – were very close, so close that I got out of bed and tried to open the window in case I might be able to lean out and catch a glimpse of one of them. The window, unfortunately, was frozen shut. But the sound of my wrenching at it alerted the animals, who stopped calling for a while. That meant they were even closer than I had imagined. Eventually they started conversing again. Tua had awakened, perhaps sensing that I was excited or simply not in bed next to him, and I worried aloud to him that our barn door has such a flimsy closing mechanism – surely the coyotes would get in once they smelled the ducks and chickens inside? He reassured me that our birds were safe, and the two of us listened in silence to our neighbors’ conversation. At last I went back to bed, but it was after 4.15 when I finally drifted off, still listening to the sound of coyotes, howling.

Yesterday I followed coyote and fisher tracks for about a mile around our hills. It was a good day for scat.