Surprises Around The Corner

"I hope that you walk around the corner and you get very surprised." -Miranda Richardson

^ Innocent victim.

Strolling along on our walk last Friday, my dog, Gracie, and I came around a corner and stopped dead in our tracks, stunned with surprise. 

Well, technically, as she was off leash as usual, Gracie rounded the corner a few steps before me, and came to a standstill all on her own.

Oh, must be an unfamiliar dog up ahead, I figured as I made the corner behind her. I looked up ahead and then I screeched on my own brakes. 

Because what was up ahead of us, maybe twenty yards away, standing at the edge of the forest, was a big ol' coyote.

And I mean big. Most coyotes I've seen around our neighborhood - and I have seen quite a few over the years - are small, slight, and somewhat scruffy looking; not much of a match for my eighty-pound lady. But this animal looked not only big, but strong and healthy.

^ Precious angel.

These thoughts flashed through my brain as I stared at the coyote and he (or she) stared right back at me. For her part, Gracie had tucked herself against my leg in a heel position, and was still as a mouse. But she was staring hard. 

We all watched each other.

For a beat.

And another beat.

Then, soundlessly, the coyote slipped into the forest. 

And we carefully continued on our walk.

Now I've been walking this same route with my dogs for 15 years now. Every darn day. And never once have I ever seen a coyote along the way. So I figured this one was a fluke.

Sure enough, on Saturday, we saw not a trace. 

^ Gentle as a lamb.

But on Sunday, we saw the coyote again. This time, Gracie and I were crossing the forest footbridge and caught sight of coyote just as he (or she) paced by the end of the footbridge, maybe ten yards away.

Much closer than the first time. 

And we went through the same motions. 

We all froze in place.

We stared at each other.

We paused a beat. And then another beat. 

Again, the coyote slipped off. But this time, he (or she) did not disappear directly into the fringes of the forest. This time, I knew very well that the beast would need to cross a large, paved turnaround area in order to get back to the cover of the trees. Still, as it moved off, low-hanging branches on the Douglas firs surrounding the footbridge blocked my view of its progress. 

And of all the surprising things that had happened during this encounter and the first one, what happened next was the most unexpected and shocking thing of all.

My dog, 

my gentle-spirited baby child, 

my soft-spoken huntress whose job in the field is only to scent and stand, 

yes, 

that sweetheart of an Irish lass did a most unexpected thing.

She took off after that coyote like a hell hound. 

In all her life, I've never seen my dog do anything remotely so predatory.

But girl was on fire. And I was horrified.

^ I would never. 

I froze in place.

I stared after her.

I paused a beat. And then another beat.

Then I snapped into gear. I ran to the end of the footbridge and stepped out from the trees so I could see what was happening. By now, the coyote was across the turnaround and closing in on the brush along the forest perimeter; in a flash, I saw him (or her) leap into the sea of blackberry vines and disappear.

Running maybe five feet behind, my red-headed riot maker did not hesitate to plunge right in after.

I had visions of them both landing in a nest of newborn coyote pups, surrounded by several other adult coyotes highly motivated to defend their offspring. 

Dear lord. 

Although I'd been calling my dog ever since her fire-breathing blastoff from my side, she was not responding to me. Very out of character for my normally obedient girl, but clearly she was operating outside the bounds of sanity. 

Still, I kept calling.

And a few seconds later, whether finally ready to obey me or just feeling satisfied with her efforts, my well-chuffed dog popped out of the underbrush, wagging her tail with happy abandon, apparently cleansed of her demonic possession, and trotted straight across the pavement to my side. 

* * * * *

It's true that coyotes are naturally scared of humans. They find us unpredictable and confusing, and try to avoid us at all costs. In the rare event that a coyote might approach a human, it's advisable to wave your arms and make noise. They'll back right off.

But coyotes and dogs are a little different. Coyotes generally view little dogs as a tasty snack (yikes). And while coyotes in the wild are still rather wary of big dogs and not likely to hurt them, if they're habituated to living near humans, coyotes may be ready to take on a dog in order to defend territory or a nest of pups.

And dogs who have eye-to-eye contact with the same coyote more than once are inclined to take action against them. Especially dogs with strong hunting instincts. 

So here's the upshot. 

Gracie stays on her leash.

For the next month or two, we will avoid this particular patch of forest.

^ I was here sleeping the whole time.

And while we never can be sure what surprises we might find around the corner when we're out walking, my hell hound and I will not be staring down any more coyotes.