Coyotes
written by: Alan David Gould
The full moon was crystal clear, uncluttered by a single cloud. A single, jeweled star trailed beneath it in a translucent, grey-black sky. Rather than ominous, however, the blanket of night decried a serenity so profound that every living thing fell into its primal embrace. The padded quietude was tangible; a breathless hush before the dawn of a virgin morning.
Two forms greyed out across unlikely neighborhood lawns. The primitive slink of wild animals impressed the tepid backdrop. It might have been their coarseness but the creatures were immediately noticeable. Too large for foxes: these were coyotes on the hunt for food.
The puppy and I were up early and out, making our way in the half light. The coyotes spotted us easily through the murk. There was that tangible moment of apprehension while we assessed each other. But they seemed to move away, not desirous of any interaction.
Or were they doubling back for us? I swallowed my nerves as we made for the house. Coyotes will rarely, if ever, attack a human, unless they’re sick or rabid. Would we be the exception? I imagined the creatures telegraphing to each other—Get that. Good to eat.
I closed the front door on the skinny brutes as a chill ran down my spine. Until the next full moon. Or the next.
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