Two nights ago. Never have I heard a pack so near, maybe 100 yards away. And it was unnerving to hear the yips and howls and barks, all done with a heavy undercurrent of savagery, of primitiveness, of a pack hunting, capturing and killing. And after about maybe a minute or two, all was silent. Except for the owl, farther off, hooting, as if complaining about all the noise.
So now I think differently about coyotes. They are no longer the Disneyesque, benign pups, playing, rolling about, and howling. I think of them now as canine gangs, intent on finding their prey, celebrating the kill.
And, as with the barred owl with its dead robin, I realize, once again, nature isn't always pretty. It's all part of the plan. All part of the balance of life. I'm just queasy about seeing it. Queasy hearing it.
©Carol Leigh
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