Coyote

Today, I got cabin fever very early. I wasn't in a mood to wander aimlessly around Wal-Mart or to go junking, and as I've said before, there is no place for me right now at school, so I grabbed a big bottle of water and The Count of Monte Cristo and headed to the Red Field. It was a typically-hot Mississippi summer day, but the smothering blanket of humidity hasn't descended yet, so it was still tolerable. A strong, dry wind blew all day long, and under the deep shade of the porch it was quite comfortable.

I was reading when I became aware of the sound of something moving in the edge of the field. I expected a deer or maybe even a stray dog to emerge, and I sat still to see what it would be. We have all kinds of wildlife up there; one Saturday my family and I were up picnicking and we saw a wild turkey tom come strutting out of the woods calling for his hens.

I wasn't expecting what I saw, however. A largish canine form came trotting across the clipped pasture in front of the porch, and I almost whistled to it before realizing that what I was seeing was no lost dog. It was a coyote. That was as close as I've ever been to one. I could have thrown my book at it and hit it.

It was alone, and it didn't ever seem to notice me. I must have been upwind of it, and I certainly wasn't making any noise sitting still in my chair reading. There is so seldom anyone at the Red Field that I suppose the animals no longer take any notice of the construction there. For them, it just is.

The coyote slipped through the grass and paused at the edge of the woods to look around, and my phone chimed three times, the noise it makes when I get new email. I saw the coyote prick up its ears and look around, but it never looked towards me. It continued into the woods and down the hill toward the stream that runs at the foot of it. A little later, I saw it through the trees on the other side of the stream and heading away.

It was a strange encounter, and the only time in my life that I've seen a coyote alone and that close. I've heard them in the distance at night more times than I can count, and seen packs of them several times crossing open fields, but this lone encounter was a first. I wasn't afraid of it, but I have to say that after that, I became more aware of the rustlings in the woods that I had always just assumed to be deer before. Who knows what else might slide out of those dark green depths into the edge of the pasture?