coyote country

Rosie is a lucky dog in that Chet and I are both nighttime people, and we love to go outside to sit and appreciate the coolness that comes after a hot day in Dallas. Thus, she gets a late night stroll, and has the opportunity to interact with the nocturnal wildlife living around the brush bordering a parking lot. Her favorite animal to hang out with, socially distanced from, is the duo of skunks who live in the shrubs. Almost every night, we get a spotting. First, a flash of the white on their coats, followed by a rustling in the shrubs and the emergence of the animal. Although they sometimes are right on the edge of our six-foot-bubble, they have never sprayed, and of course, all three of us are extremely appreciative of that. The skunks are small, the size of a large bunny, and adorably fluffy, with huge tails the size of their body parading behind their movements-- the peacock of small mammals. They scuttle around with a quickness unexpected for their tiny Dachshund-sized legs, skirting in and around doing who knows what, because they rarely come up with food, and if they did, I wouldn't know what that would look like. Are skunks omnivores? Herbivores? I don't know. From my perspective, they simply love to investigate and root around in the patches of grass, and Rosie loves to observe them. She patiently watches them, like a mother bear watching her cubs play in the distance, not making a sound or slight movement for fear of giving herself away. Usually, with small mammals like bunnies and squirrels, Rosie's prime objective is to hunt, but with the skunks, she contemplates. Perhaps it is because she can smell them, and knows better than to come home to Mom and Dad smelling like a dumpster. Her super objective for every day of her life is getting the best spot on the bed, so I figure she doesn't chase the skunks for fear of losing the prime pillow spot. 

The first time we saw the coyote on our nighttime sit-and-observe, we thought it was a fox, or maybe a stray cat. He was far away and I have always been terrible at depth perception and everything along that vein (estimating how many people are in a crowd, how tall someone is from far away, the distance from here to Arizona--my brain does not do a good job of comprehending such matters). I thought it was a fox, Chet thought it was a coyote, we discussed, we argued, we researched, I conceded dishearteningly eventually, still believing in my heart, in my soul, in my mind, that it had been a fox. I thought my argument was sound; South Side on Lamar is just barely outside of the heart of downtown Dallas--why would there be a coyote going seemingly from the parking complex down a side street. Did he know the raccoons in the dumpster and was simply visiting, staying on their couch of rubbish while he trekked along to somewhere more woodsy? Did he live inside of the apartment complex, where some residents had thought he was a stray dog in need of some kibble? Just as depth perception, this sighting did not make sense to me. Coyotes live in the woods, along creeks and rivers and streams, with plenty of squirrels and rabbits comfortably awaiting his catch. Coyotes do not live in South Side on Lamar, home to Dallas Cowboys, cockroaches, pooches, and the occasional tree or shrub. I chalked it up to an agree to disagree moment.

And then we saw him again a week later. Closer up this time, but still at a safe distance with a chain link fence between us, though he was small enough to squeeze through the mouth of the fence bending slightly away from the dirt, where many rabbits had escaped from Rosie, our dog, before, much to her dismay. Rosie saw the coyote first, as dogs usually do, and, being a mutt with varying degrees of pointer in her mostly cattle-dog mix, did what sliver of that she had in her, and pointed. Back straight, front paw cocked slightly off the ground in the cutest little bend, and nose pointing straight towards the coyote. Upon this closer inspection, Chet and I shared an "I told you so" look, as from this view it was obvious he was a coyote and not a fox. I acknowledged my loss in the ever-going battle of who is right and who is wrong, and the three of us sat on the curb and watched the coyote as he did the same to us. Usually, when Rosie sees an animal, unless her sleeping arrangement is at stake she attempts to herd and/or catch and eat it. This time, she did not. Most likely due to the fact that she had recently broken her paw and had a bright pink cast and a large cone on, and knew she would be no match for our family teacup Maltese, much less a wild animal larger and probably meaner than she. Or she was embarrassed of her clown-like appearance next to the sleek and muscular body of the coyote. Who's to say. 

Rosie sat. The coyote mirrored. Both of their tails twitched and their heads dipped slightly to the side. We stayed this way, in silence watching and learning from one another for about fifteen minutes, and then he decided he had better things to do and wandered off, leaving the three remaining souls a little lonely. Chet recalled that in the direction that the coyote had disappeared there was a train track, not the DART line or anything electric, but a cargo train that the Box Car Children and others alike had called home. With that epiphany came an air of understanding for me. Sure, a coyote at South Side did not make sense. But a coyote on a train track very much did. I picture him meandering along the track, hiding whenever the rails started to vibrate with a promise of a train, exploring and living the lone life I imagine a coyote to live. Maybe he was a permanent resident of the South Side stop, or maybe he was a squatter for a week or two, taking a break from his long journey to or from or with no destination or home. Either way, I'm glad to have met him. 

The coyote made about three more appearances over the next two weeks, and then disappeared for around two months or so. We figured he had followed our prophecy, and was traveling along the train track to greener grass in the forest surrounding the Trinity River. However, about a week ago we had another sighting. Back to our roots and supposedly having learned nothing, Chet and I again had a tiff about whether or not it was our coyote or a fox. I guess I do not do well at learning from my mistakes. We only got a glance, a peek of the animal trekking through the parking lot, before he disappeared, to where I do not know. Perhaps he was hiding in between or under cars, or perhaps my blink was simply too long and he had crossed the street to the other lot while I stayed straining my eyes to his previous position. Even Rosie and Chet had not caught sight of him, so I felt special in that our last view of the coyote had been mine and mine alone. After all, I had been the one constantly searching for a sight of him every night since his first sighting.

Our coyote friend will always be an enigma, completely disregarding my wish to see him, and showing up on his own agenda. I am grateful for every sighting of him, because he keeps me ever-excited about our midnight sit-and-observes. I will give credit to the skunks, as well, because they are there almost every night, but I still get giddy every time they decide to show themselves. All of our experience with nature at South Side on Lamar go to show that a little pocket of nature lives with us always, even in an apartment complex, and we must appreciate it every night, before they disappear to another parking complex a block away. Although I feel a slight ownership towards these animals from the repetition of seeing them every night, they have their own calendar, and I must treat every sighting like it is the last. 

A picture of the lot South Side lives on, for reference of the seemingly cityscape unwelcoming of coyotes.