Coyotes Come to Call

The first time I heard them, they sounded like a pack of hungry puppies. They yipped, wailed, barked and howled into the night: a convocation of coyotes. I obeyed a sudden, irresistible urge to howl along with them. Here in rural Costa Rica, no neighbors could hear. Try crying with the coyotes in South Philly, and someone will drop a net over you.

When I joined their serenade to the stars, I felt part of something primal and potent. Their cries spoke of power, strength and freedom, but also of yearning. After that first time,  I often rushed outside to howl my song along with them. It felt so liberating.

Sometimes, in answer to my call, their song turned abruptly from friendly to frenzied. I imagined some hapless prey, and wondered if they’d caught something, and if they had, what it was. Not one of the little chihuahuas up the road, I hoped. Nonetheless, I liked the notion of communing with the coyotes, as long as they replied from a distance.

Lately, I’m not so cavalier about the coyotes. They’ve come ever closer to the house, late at night, their feral dirges disturbing our dreams. We began to worry that our new puppy, Lucy Liu, could be in danger as she slept outside our front door.

Wilie E Coyote

I decided it was time for this city girl to learn something about the creatures I knew only from Native American mythology and cartoons.

Coyotes are much maligned in the news today. It seems they don’t want to go away when we build our cities and suburbs, and they’re wily enough to survive almost anywhere. Just last year, a coyote was picked up in Harlem. Better there than in a place where they’re hunted for sport.

People here shrug them off. Some expressed surprise that our eighty-some pound Shar Pei/ Shepherd, Buddha, hadn’t deterred the coyotes by marking his territory. “Hm,” said Jack, “guess we’ll have to mark the territory with something stronger than Buddha can manage.”

That ought to keep them nicely at bay. I’d hate to have to invest in strobe lights and sirens.