Coyotes

At a campground in the White River Nat'l Forest in Colorado, I pitched my tent, then went off for a walk with Shakespeare and Mick.

A long, empty road ran beside a river, and after we'd gone a long way on it, I turned the dogs loose. After riding in the car all day, they streaked off to run, explore, and get a cold drink of river water.

We'd gone a good ways when I heard rustling in the bushes that lined the river. I thought it might be a deer, but a coyote appeared on the bank and barked at my dogs. I dove for Shakespeare and caught him before he broke through the underbrush, and snapped a leash onto him. But Mick, normally cautious about water, dove into the river, crossed it, and disappeared.

We have a coyote who barks at us on our walks at home. I've been keeping the dogs leashed more than I used to because of stories of dogs getting lured by one coyote, to where a pack is waiting. In that wild, empty terrain, I panicked about Mick and blew my whistle like crazy. I had horrible visions of what might happen.

After a minute, he came crashing through the willows, soaked. I gave him a treat and leashed him, and we started back to the campground. The large coyote kept pace with us from the other side of the river, barking every step of the way.

A white pickup drove out of the campground and met me. “What's going on?” a woman asked. “We heard a coyote, and we knew a woman was out walking her dogs. Get in!” I said no thank you because I had a soaking dog. She said it didn't matter, but I assured her I was fine to walk back to the campground.

Near my camping spot, two couples from RVs discussed the coyote. We agreed I should keep my dogs inside for the night, so Mick stayed in the tent and Shakespeare in the car. Soon after we went to bed, coyotes moved in close and began to howl. Old sheepmen say two coyotes can sound like 40, but it did sound like a chorus of them. Oddly, neither of my dogs responded to the cries, and we fell asleep.

In the morning, the campground host and his wife told me they'd considered moving me from my isolated spot when the coyotes came near. The coyotes had never come in close like that, and they worried about us. The two hosts had hopped onto their ATV and gone to the campground's edge, intending to fire a gun and frighten the coyotes. But they shined a light around and couldn't see them. Another camper had taken his ATV out, too, and kept vigil near where the coyotes appeared to be assembled.

Hearing this, I felt grateful and guilty. Grateful that kind strangers had kept watch, guilty that I slept through it.