Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Killing my first Coyote (not a proud day)

This post is a response to a comment Border Collie made on the Bear post. (Hi Border!) She wanted to know about Coyotes, because she's thinking of moving to a remote-ish area and they are a problem. I am not a Coyote expert, but, I do watch them. I can only tell you of my own experiences with them. Yes. You will encounter them where you're thinking about going, Border. I hope, for you and yours, they are good encounters. Safe encounters. And it IS possible to live with them in peace. You have to draw lines. They are as smart as dogs, very smart. They can learn, but, it takes some work. I learned the hard way. I don't want you to go through that. Please, have a gun. Don't plan on using it, but, have one. Think of it like a spare tire. Okay?

When I bought my little, very remote farm, I filled it with animals I love. I won't go into that, too many to list, plus I am (still) on the conservation list as a volunteer to re-hab and re-habilitate orphaned or injured wild life. Once people hear that, you not only get calls from the conservation people, but, strange boxes containing strange animals will start to show up on your porch. It's like Christmas, only the present could possibly tear off your face. (Laughing, thinking of one mean Mink that showed up that way.) So, I had lots and lots of different animals, depending on the day. My daughter and I loved it, it was our thing.

As soon as we moved in, the Coyotes came. We could hear them, and see them on the horizon, just past the cornfield that bordered the North pasture and our driveway. That's where they gave their nightly serenade. Later I would learn that serenade is a call to gather their pack and to warn other packs to get the fuck off their territory. Any lone males should run. The calls started out with yip, yips and grew, gathering steam until it turned into a crazy mob of maniacs laughing, howling and dripping water. The water drip call is my favorite. Finally, only long, lingering howls fill the air. It's a pure sound, always on key, everyone seems to join. The whole thing, is one of the most incredible sounds to hear. It's joyous and slightly dark at the same time. It can be frightening to the uninitiated Human. It can be frightening to Humans who ARE familiar, but, accidentally get too close when it starts. I love the sound, personally. It makes me feel like I am home. I still hear it here, they get close, even in town, but, it's faint. I have to make time to hear it. Out at the farm, it was up close and personal.

I'd been told (don't people always tell a woman shit when she's living alone?) that I should do things to mark my property and warn the Coyotes to stay away. It sounded valid, so I did it. I went out at dusk when the call started, I could see them on the other side of the field, they had walked up out of the fairly large wilderness that is Iowa, Missouri tree lines. That's what we call the non-fields. In Mo, there are more because the terrain is rough and rocky. My tree lines went on and on for counties and counties. Up steep vast craggy hills, swamps, ponds, bogs, old forgotten grave yards, rock quarries, and thick forest and brush. Miles and miles of it. Unnavigable places for Humans (I know, I tried). Thick and intimidating. Beautiful and frightening, sometimes. Curious, mysterious and impossible to resist. Of all the animal encounters I had, I have to give Coyotes a trophy for being the easiest to watch and learn from, yet the hardest to find when you wanted to see them. Coyotes. I called them The Ghosts of the forest. Agile, swift, graceful and sometimes funny. Yet, an entire pack can melt into the ground and vanish in front of you. Just, yip, poof, gone. You would not believe how strange it is, unless you have seen it. It leaves you shaken. The trees seem to mock you. You feel as if you've had an encounter with something not of this world. You want to go home where it's safe.

So, on the advise of old timers, I waited for the serenade and went out and shot my .12 gage into the air. I did it once on each of the four corners, for ritual sake. The pack scattered. They looked like brown streaks zooming to the tree line and safety. I was told, and I believe, that Coyotes know guns mean death. I believe they pass that information to their young with their movements and sounds. Then, I peed in a bucket and poured it on the fence line. Yeah, laugh. I did. I did that many times. I'd even ask my guy friends to pee by the fence. They thought it was hilarious. If you go to Pat's house, she makes you pee on her fence. I'd say, hey, only in the day time. But, when you get the perimeter marked, you have to start over. After the first time, I only did the entire perimeter once in awhile. Hey, it may sound crazy, but, my house was like a smorgasborg to these predators. I can hear them, 'Well, Bill, do you want chicken or duck tonight? Or maybe some baby raccoon, yummy.' Fuck them. They needed to respect my line. And for a long time they did. What really helps, and I recommend this, is at least one BIG yard dog. I had a 300 pound Saint Bernard who was perpetually angry. She raged at them when any stepped into the field. She knew the line too. The Sheepdog I had was big and intimidating, which helps. But, he wasn't fierce, he was a smooshy fluff ball. But, his presence helped. Get a yard dog. A BIG one, who likes to sleep outside. Saint Bernards are like that. Rescue one. You won't regret it in a remote area.


Some of my animals were always temporary, but, some of them were my family. My goat Daisy and her daughter April, were family. I'll spare the sentiment and just leave it at family. I still hate thinking of this. I underestimated the brain of Coyotes. The Coyotes watched the dogs. The Coyotes decided to split the pack and five of the pack approached from the North. It was dusk. I was there. I was actually out in the yard when this happened. The North pack of five came across the field, but, they didn't scatter when my Saint challenged them. What the fuck? Interesting. I went out to the driveway to watch. Brandy (my dog) flipped her lid, jumped the fence and charged them. Brandy was a maniac, she would foam at the mouth with rage. She even scared me sometimes when she got like that. The other dog followed out of curiosity. The Coyotes were fast. They scattered, but, didn't run. Yipping and jumping, skipping, backwards walking on hind legs, jumping straight up and turning mid-air, one lunging at the dogs angry roaring mouth just out of reach while another nipped her tail, it was as if they were teasing her. Playing. But, Coyotes are not big animals. The dog would eventually kill at least a couple of them, she wasn't playing. I don't think slaughter for no good reason is acceptable. I went in and grabbed a hand gun. I wadded out in it and grabbed Brandy's collar and took her back to the driveway. The other dog followed. The Coyotes had slunk back farther when I wadded in. I've been told they hate the smell of Humans. Humans have guns. I was as close as I wanted to be, but, I wasn't in danger. Not with a gun and Brandy. It was play, it was weird as hell, but, cool. We stood, fascinated by this odd spectacle, and watched them in the field, yipping, jumping and playing. Probably only twenty yards away. Unbelievable!

That was when we heard the screams. They were coming from the South pasture. You'd be surprised how much a goat in agony can sound like a Human. I ran, dogs running ahead of me. We were too late. Distracted and enchanted by the close encounter with the five North, we had totally missed the real pack sneaking in from the South where the tree line was closer. There was blood everywhere. Daisy was disemboweled on the ground, screaming for her baby. April was almost into the tree line, being dragged by one of the pack. She seemed dead. They had actually dragged that half grown Nubian goat (large animal) over a high metal gate. You could see the blood trail. I realized I still had the gun in my hand. I flipped the safety and screaming at them, I began shooting wildly anywhere my dogs weren't. I didn't look at the sights, I was too upset. I just shot and shot. I hit nothing. They were so fucking quick. Once they reached the tree line, the dogs knew they were beat. It was all blackberry bushes and brambles where they went in. They continued to bark, but, there was no way those big hairy dogs could attempt to navigate that mess. A lanky, skinny Coyote can though.

I had to take care of Daisy. I don't want to write about that in too much detail. It still bothers me. I could not shoot her. I just could not do it. I found a painless way to end her pain and I buried her. I will tell you this, it was odd that Daisy and April were even out there that day. Daisy usually slept on the porch in a lawn chair. April was always near. Or Daisy was in the kitchen following me around. Or on the couch napping. Or in the car outside school, waiting for my daughter. Daisy and April were not livestock, they were our pets. Maybe Daisy had been driven to the safety (she thought) of the South pasture by the sound of the North five's mock fight? Those Coyotes had been watching and waiting for a chance to act. They'd had a plan. I hated them. I wanted them all dead.

For weeks I walked the woods at dusk every chance I got. I wanted to kill some of them. I never saw them. The nightly serenade had stopped. Were they smart enough to know I was gunning for them? Maybe. Probably. After a few weeks, I guess I got some sense finally and realized I could not go around hating predators for being what they are.  I had to come up with a better plan. I just didn't know what.

One day, the serenade started again. It was like nothing happened. But, something had happened and I resented their call now. I worked in restaurants and bars then and I used to bring my dogs home big bags of meat. Mostly steak. I know it's weird, but, when you scrape plates, people just waste so much food. I started scraping the meat into a separate bag and taking it home. The other carnivores and omnivores I had loved it. I always had dry dog and cat food, but, no one wanted it anymore, except the geese and peacock. One day, I had so much meat, it was ridiculous. The serenade started. I have no idea what possessed me to do this, but, I got in my car and drove up the hill. As my car approached, the Coyotes disappeared into the tree line. But, I could feel them watching me. I got out, took a bag of meat and dumped it over the fence..and left. I went home, got out my binoculars and watched. They were eating the meat.

After that, I fed them. I know it's insane and against every rule of survival. I know that. But, I am admitting I did it. At work, other people started saving meat for me. They knew I took in wild life, even my boss was on board as long as I kept it out of site and clean. No one suspected what I was really doing with one big bag of that meat. I didn't feed the pack every night. Logic will tell you, wild animals are used to not eating every day. I'd feed them every other day or every three days. On my way home from work, which happened to be at dawn. I worked night shifts, the place was open until 4 am. By the time I did side work and cleaned, it was usually just about dawn when I drove past the serenade spot. They learned to expect me. They learned the sound of my car. I started keeping binoculars in my car so I could sit in my driveway and watch them, when I wasn't too tired. Eventually, they came out to eat while I was getting back in the car and I could just sit right there and watch them. I fed them for years. In the snow and in the Summer. In the Spring I would see females with distended nipples and I knew in a month or two I would see the pups. They have many pups in their litters, it surprised me. One day, I saw a female with nine pups! But, three days later, she only had seven pups. A Coyote is a fierce predator, I didn't want to think about what would kill a Coyote pup. Whatever it was, it was out there in the trees, somewhere. I'd see the old ones disappear, I'd see younger ones coming up. I watched the pack grow. I increased the food. I counted 32 of them one day. That's a big pack, I think. I tried to calculate one pound of food per Coyote. They could divide it. Fairly or not. I'd watch them fight over it. I'd see them with terrible wounds from battles. But, I never, ever saw them on my property again. We had drawn a truce. I fed them. They left us alone. I know they still hunted because they needed more than I could give. Yet, they liked the regular meal, 'specially when there was deep snow or bad ice. They understood a lot of things. Yes, I got close and I learned, but, do not think they were my pets or my friends. Do not make that mistake. Once, they pulled the 'separate and surround' move on me. I ran. I ran to the car and told them it was a bitch move. They didn't get fed that day and they never tried it again. Think about how smart your dog is and all the things it can learn. A Coyote is just a dog after all. I stopped hating them and started to enjoy them. I still think they are amazing and one of our most beautiful, graceful animals.

The one I shot was sick. He was a lone male with no pack. He slunk into the yard out by the driveway one day, in plain sight. He was moving oddly and he was very skinny. I thought maybe it was rabies. I shot him with a shotgun at fairly close range, but, they're tough. I finished him off with the .22. I didn't like doing it, but, he was clearly sick and dangerous. When I examined him, I saw it was mange. Mange, untreated, is awful. He would have died anyway. I never saw another Coyote in my yard and the North pack remained, if not friends, well, not enemies either. I do not recommend that anyone do what I did. It was stupid, but, it worked. This is the first time I've told anyone. If anyone had found out, the locals would have been out to my place on a killing spree. I wouldn't have enjoyed that. We have too many Coyotes, they do have to be culled. I understand that. But, I don't want to see it or do it. It's just shooting dogs. That's what I see now. Just beautiful wild dogs.



I have to add this. I know that they knew me and I know that they knew my car and where I lived. I know that because once I saw the entire pack walking along the road in front of my house! Coyotes do not do that. I was sitting on the porch, very close to the road, it was a bright moonlit night. I held my breath and sat very still. As they marched by they yipped me. It was a pack call. They continued on right down the dirt road and ran back into next field over. It was magical.

To this day, I believe they were inviting me to join the hunt.

                      







17 comments:

Unknown said...

WOW! Just W O W!!!!!!! Amazing.

Unknown said...

That was exciting to read! When we lived in the old trailer, when I was very little, I remember hearing the coyotes yipping and howling out past the pasture.

Unknown said...

You write beautifully. I can see, hear, smell, and touch that place. I think it is inside me now somewhere. I can picture the coyote moves, the jumping, skipping, twirl they do. And the howls. Mikey is a howler. He "talks" all the time in various degrees of whine, wimper, and howl. I don't know that he understands bark at all.

I used to see solitary coyotes at some of the ranches I used to go to practice at, one in particular. I carried a gun after my rattler encounter with a dog and 7 or 8 sheep making a practice run in an enclosed paddock area. I figured it would be useful with hungry coyotes too. Or whatever.

One ranch that hosted trials yearly was owned by a woman who had sheep and bearded collies. Beardies are great, big foolish fun but not real useful. That spring she lost all her lambs, every single one, to coyotes. So the next year when I went back the beardies were gone replaced by border collies. I asked her about it and she said she was trying trying them for protection for the lambs. Oye yea. Bad choice again. Should have had anatolian shepherds. Borders are all over what is moving, but if asked to protect, not herd, there is a switch to flip that they don't engage.

Goats, I'd be devastated. One of the ranchers at a farm we went to ended up with a couple of pygmy goats he put in with the sheep. Damn, how cute. But he got pissed and kicked one and broke it's leg so off to the stock sale for him. Some rancher I'd make, with all creatures great and small dying of old age. I wouldn't make a dime.

I think and hope I've got the post saved. It's haunting and glorious. Thank you.

Dirty Disher said...

Thanks, Lia, I enjoyed writing it. And the memories.

Casey Jones, I was just cracking up about this..do you remember the time that Weasel sunk his fangs into my arm and wouldn't release? I was screaming and flapping like a loon and you were rolling on the floor laughing. I think you were about 11 r 12 then. We finally had to fill up the bathtub and half drown that stinking fucker before he let go of me. He needed a bath anyway, he smelled so vile. His name was Skipper, I remember that. He'd been found walking on a road, like he was confused.

Dirty Disher said...

Border, thanks. I am so glad you have a gun. You're like me. Us chicks can be tough when we have to be. That fucking rancher who kicked that goat is an asshole. Everyone knows you kick goats in the head. It won't hurt them, they actually enjoy that when they play with you. Kicking any animal hard enough to break a bone is shameful. What a douche.

Dirty Disher said...

..and by 'kick them in the head' I mean, in the horn part, front on. Goats are so fucking adorable. They do get annoying when you're trying to work and they follow you wanting attention, but, dogs and cats do that too. Geez, how could you seriously hurt one?

Unknown said...

Lol! Do you remeber when you asked me to find pretty rocks for your garden? I was real little and I went on the hunt for the most beautiful rocks i could find for you. Then I spotted what i could only describe as the most colorful most uniquely shaped rock I had ever seen, but when I picked it up it slid through my fingers like slime! It was F-ing dog puke! I was so horrified. Do you remember that?

Dirty Disher said...

Border, I just looked up anatolian shepherds. I wasn't familiar. Oh, hell yes. That would be real a good Coyote deterrent. Very similar to the Saint, isn't it?

Dirty Disher said...

Casey, I do remember that. I laughed so hard. I remember when you collected rocks. You had a white one called Roxeanne. You were so serious about them being alive inside the stone. You'd cry if anyone hurt Roxeanne's feelings. I used her as a doorstop. LMAO!

Remember Greenie? He loved you.

Kitty said...

This was the most beautiful story I've ever heard. Thank you for sharing it. I love anything to do with foxes or wolves or coyotes. Their just magifiecent creatures. I'm they did that to your goats though, smart little things. I've only heard a coyote once or twice so I never got the whole symphony, just the solo; so I'm about to go on youtube and look it up. (:

Anonymous said...

That is an amazing story. The fact that you were around them so much and could watch their behavior is really something. Very scarey that they tried to get you, and how they planned the attack on the goats. It's heartbreaking to think of your beloved animals under attack. Goats are so very sweet.
The ability of wild animals to melt away into the landscape is amazing. I watched the fox I saw along the fence line last August, do exactly that. It was absolutely spooky how it disappeared in front of my eyes. I can only imagine how creepy it would be for that many coyotes to do the same thing.
You are an awesome writer, Pat.
Christina

Unknown said...

I loved Greenie! Didn't he belong to one of your friends sons? He was so huge. He did love me, or at least tolerated me. He wasn't a fan of anyone else really.

Unknown said...

Ohhhh Good Ole Roxanne. She had pebbles at some point. Lots and lots of pebble babies. Lol. Hey, at least I could entertain myself!

Unknown said...

I loved Greenie! Didn't he belong to one of your friends sons? He was so huge. He did love me, or at least tolerated me. He wasn't a fan of anyone else really.

Dirty Disher said...

Kitty, thank you. Is the wild canine your spirit animal?


Christina, thanks. I've had regular encounters with Fox's too. In my yard and oddly, when I worked at the prison here. I love them, never had a problem with them. They love to sneak into the yard and steal kid's toys. I used to bait them with toys and meat, just so I could watch them. They became almost pets. I tried to keep them on the perimeter, but, sometimes they'd eat dog food on the porch with my odd pack of assorted mammals. People always told me they'd kill my birds. They didn't. They never caused a problem at all, since they usually run lone or in pairs. I had a pair. They did confuse my dog at first, she was like, what? Are you crazy? Should I kill them or do they fucking live here?? She learned.

Dirty Disher said...

Casey, that Iguana was, yeah, a friends kid's pet, but, they had no idea he'd get that big. He had a bad temper and they were afraid of him. He hated everyone, but, you. He really loved you.

Kitty said...

You know, I think they might be. One day I was drinking hot chocolate and at the bottom a picture of a dog-like thing appeared, kind of looked like a german shepard. I have a picture, but it's on my tablet that crapped out and died for good.