In the dark of night
The animals are changing. They are taking back the night. Or perhaps, they always owned it, and I never knew.
Last night, Cubby and I came home late from the TMS sessions in Boston. At we pulled into the driveway, we saw a flash of gray at the walkway around the garage. “It’s a cat,” Cubby said. But it was a little big for a cat . . . and it wasn’t quite the right shape. We drove closer. It was a coyote.
And it didn’t run. It looked at us, then turned and walked down into the yard. I should stress that. It looked back at us, and walked. Not ran. That, I thought, was unusual. In my experience in the woods, bears and moose sauntered. Coyotes and fox ran. What had changed?
Perhaps Cubby was right . . . the chemicals from the old landfill were affecting the wildlife in strange and ominous ways. Smaller animals were obviously pondering the possibility that maybe – just maybe – we could be food.
Cubby and I took the flashlight from the trunk, and went down the lawn after it. Secure in our position at the top of the food chain, we trotted briskly and shined the light ahead. We found him at the edge of the yard, by the fireplace. Staring back at us. We walked forward, and he backed up. Step for step.
We went forward, and he went back. We went back, and he went forward. After a while, we returned to the house. An hour later, we heard hoots. Stepping out onto the deck, I shined the light and there he was, right where we’d left him. I walked back down the steps and crossed the yard. This time, he stood his ground till I was twenty feet away – almost spear range.
I heard another noise, and looked behind me. To my surprise, there was another set of eyes between me and the house. How did that happen? Suddenly, I realized the truth. It doesn’t matter if I think I am at the top of the food chain. What matters is what they think. And it was clear they were not certain. I remembered the velociraptors in Jurassic Park.
They may be small, but there is strength in numbers.
We looked at one another. I advanced on the one on the lawn, and he retreated into the woods. How many more were there? Obviously, the situation was not as it had seemed. I circled the house, and met another dark shape at the edge of the flowerbeds. It melted into the brush, and I kept going – all the way back inside.
I listened to the hoots and cries as I went to sleep.
I’ll consider perimeter security and defense in the morning.
Last night, Cubby and I came home late from the TMS sessions in Boston. At we pulled into the driveway, we saw a flash of gray at the walkway around the garage. “It’s a cat,” Cubby said. But it was a little big for a cat . . . and it wasn’t quite the right shape. We drove closer. It was a coyote.
And it didn’t run. It looked at us, then turned and walked down into the yard. I should stress that. It looked back at us, and walked. Not ran. That, I thought, was unusual. In my experience in the woods, bears and moose sauntered. Coyotes and fox ran. What had changed?
Perhaps Cubby was right . . . the chemicals from the old landfill were affecting the wildlife in strange and ominous ways. Smaller animals were obviously pondering the possibility that maybe – just maybe – we could be food.
Cubby and I took the flashlight from the trunk, and went down the lawn after it. Secure in our position at the top of the food chain, we trotted briskly and shined the light ahead. We found him at the edge of the yard, by the fireplace. Staring back at us. We walked forward, and he backed up. Step for step.
We went forward, and he went back. We went back, and he went forward. After a while, we returned to the house. An hour later, we heard hoots. Stepping out onto the deck, I shined the light and there he was, right where we’d left him. I walked back down the steps and crossed the yard. This time, he stood his ground till I was twenty feet away – almost spear range.
I heard another noise, and looked behind me. To my surprise, there was another set of eyes between me and the house. How did that happen? Suddenly, I realized the truth. It doesn’t matter if I think I am at the top of the food chain. What matters is what they think. And it was clear they were not certain. I remembered the velociraptors in Jurassic Park.
They may be small, but there is strength in numbers.
We looked at one another. I advanced on the one on the lawn, and he retreated into the woods. How many more were there? Obviously, the situation was not as it had seemed. I circled the house, and met another dark shape at the edge of the flowerbeds. It melted into the brush, and I kept going – all the way back inside.
I listened to the hoots and cries as I went to sleep.
I’ll consider perimeter security and defense in the morning.
Comments
The velociraptors comment put me right there with you. Excellent description of what must have been a scary experience!
-Andrew
Oh! And I have to add... The comment from Alex made me laugh!
Earlier this year, I saw a bobcat the size of a coyote.
You can't be too careful. Especially if a human saw them as puppies and gave them food, or whatever. Bad news.
I got within 20 feet of a grizzly last week in Yellowstone. Magnificent creature. but I hope he stays there in Montana.
Dean Koontz wrote a book called "Whispers" (I think that's the one)---this could be a scene from that book.
I LOVE your line "It doesn't matter what we think. It's what they think." So true.
(PS) Do you have a spear???
'A walking stick with attitude.'
After talking to some of the homeless who frequent Boston's Public Garden at night I think I would've done well to bring one of them spears with me! Gulp. A few were more than a bit odd.
When I encounter the foxes, they will often approach me to see what tasty treats I have for them.
Hopefully, this idiocy will soon stop, as someone narked on the neighbors to the wildlife dept.
Wonder who?
We've had several coyote incidences in our area, snatching small dogs out of their leashes while on walks.
enjoyed the book! cant wait to read running with scissors!