Walk on the Wild Side

Lily and I like to take a walk in the cool of the early evening--maybe around 7:00ish. It's not dark outside, but it's quiet and everybody is pretty much tucked away inside their houses. Occasionally you smell onions cooking or see the blue flashes of a television. Once you get farther up the road, past the farm where I rescued the baskets and beyond the multi-million dollar Rustic Acres housing development where I "parked" the bag of poo, the houses grow sparser and the trees grow denser. Suddenly, we're walking through a green, sweet-smelling corridor lined with ferns. Along the way, as we climb a hill, there are the remains of an overgrown, old mini-farm--a small barn, a chicken coop, falling down fencing. The mini-farm's days are long gone, but the boulders they had to build the mini-farm around look exactly as they did hundreds of years ago and as they will still look hundreds of years from now. The road gets as "forest primeval" as a suburban road can get.

Wednesday night, we were out a little later for our walk--around 7:15 maybe, and we were doing our usual thing, snuffling along in the ferns (Lily) and veering sharply away from smushed, shocked-looking chipmunks (me). As we reached the top of the hill just past the mini-farm, I heard some dogs barking. I'm always a bit worried that a huge dog will come bounding out at us. I know how lame that sounds. It just can be tricky when an unleashed dog feels like you're on his turf and your leashed dog is kinda small and inclined to be protective and defensive. So, I said, "Let's call it a night, Lily," and we whirled around and started back down the hill.

When we got halfway down, Lily got really interested in smelling a rock. So, I stopped and stretched and lazily looked back up the hill behind us.

A coyote was standing in the middle of the road, at the top of the hill, sniffing at a squooshed squirrel and looking down at us. It was very scrawny.

In that moment, I didn't think a thought, but my eyes bugged out of my head like a cartoon.

There were no houses around, no cars. Just me, Lily, and the coyote. Lily was all passionate about the rock and she didn't see the coyote. That is very good because if she had seen the coyote she would, as we all know, have become very emotional.

As I noted last September when I took a picture of one in my friend's back yard, I have nothing against coyotes. I  kinda feel like we're encroaching on their territory. I don't assume that they are rabid. The fence in my back yard is too high for them to get over if they get the munchies for mexican food.

Yet, as I hustled Lily down the hill I didn't think about the more positive aspects of coyotes. I just thought, "Damn. I better get us the hell out of here." As I frog-marched Lily along (I think it was good for her--she was shocked because usually she's the one who tries to pull), I ducked down on the fly and picked up a very large, thick stick. And, I began to talk very loudly to Lily about nothing in particular. From time to time, I peeked back over my shoulder and I mentally mapped out the driveways up ahead that I could run down if worst came to worst. I know: All this for one scrawny little coyote. The trouble is that one coyote might mean more coyotes.

What's the rest of the story? We got home just fine. And now, the thought is in the back of my head that if we go back up the road for our walk we might meet up with the coyote and/or coyotes again. I'm not sure how else to prepare. Someone said I was supposed to whistle loudly and aggressively at coyotes, but I have very poor whistle performance under pressure--my lips grow limp, I can't pucker, and I just kinda blow spit bubbles. I guess I can take to carrying a whistle around my neck. I'd feel pretty stupid, but it's a possibility. But, what if the whistle just really pissed the coyote off? What if it whistles back at me insolently, mockingly and then charges at us? I wouldn't blame it--I mean, I wouldn't enjoy being whistled at loudly and aggressively? It would give me gym class flashbacks. Okay: Off to make some full-body armor for Lily and me. We'll move a little more slowly, but it seems like a logical course of action. Clanky, sure...but duly armamented.*

*I just made this word up; I do not think it's real, so proceed with caution if you deploy it in conversation.

Positive and Negatives!

So, today I figured I'd give you a positive and some negatives. Let's start with the positive! This weekend, I am positive I saw a coyote! Unfortunately, I was creeping up on it quietly and I didn't get a great photo--it's a few degrees clearer than the images of Bigfoot, but more blurry than the Loch Ness documentation.
A few thoughts about coyotes:
1) I like 'em except when they eat people's kittens and puppies. Or babies--babies ain't good either.
2) My sister's favorite quote about coyotes was from a woman who was on the radio being interviewed and said, "The coyotes are everywheah...theah creepin' up ovah the seawall, and they mean business." Kinda menacing and funny at the same time.
3) No roadrunner was in sight, nor were any Acme coyote-destruction devices.

And now, for the negatives. Am I the only freak who likes to play around with the "black and white," "antique," and "negative" effects of her photo editor software? No, no. Don't tell me. I don't want to feel alone. Anyway, let's have ourselves a festival of negativity! You ready? Great! Here goes!
This one is a favorite. A little fish-weighing shack at a fishing lodge.

Tickets to a circus. I am the one who takes every free leaflet and bit of ephemera that is handed to her. And, uh, not to be overly negative but this looked like the most depressing little circus ever. Poor elephants.

A booklet by "Famous Author and Sportsman" Joseph D. Bates, Jr. How do I know that he is so famous? Because he tells me on almost every page of this booklet. Many of his tips involve: "Sterno" ("nothing is handier"), "Baggies," ("Since Baggies are transparent it's easy to see what's inside!"), "Wash 'n Dri's" ("a newsworthy product"). If you wish to correspond with Joseph, you can reach him at P.O. Box 2294, Grand Central Station, New York City, NY 10017. When I summon the courage, I plan to write him and ask him to explain what a "dingle stick" is. Anyway, he does include a nifty little idea for a food-grilling device (in case you're bored of your barbeque grill):

Last, but not least, here we have the Kite Flyer's Code for Safe Flying:
This weekend, I actually read this warning label on my kite, and once again I found out that I've been doing something all wrong. First, I shouldn't have tried to fly my kite using wire instead of string. This explains something that happened, and I'd explain what that something was if I hadn't lost my short-term memory in a recent accident. Second, I am supposed to avoid flying over spectators or within 5 miles of an airport. Third, I am supposed to wear "gloves or a similar device" to protect my hands from possible string burns. JEEZ! I go now to play outside in traffic. It is clearly a much safer form of entertainment.

Coyote Vs. Fox

So, awhile ago I wrote about the coyote that accompanied Sidekick Lily and me on a twilight stroll. After the incident, I found myself rethinking the whole thing. Had I panicked? Had I gone Full Metal Don Knotts, as is sometimes my wont?
Ever after, I have been quietly self-debating...Sure, I'd seen pictures of coyotes before and I'd seen pictures of foxes before, and I'd seen one coyote recently, from a distance....in some tall grass...Was that a coyote sitting on the hill behind us watching us? Was it instead, for example, a fox that my imagination super-inflated into a coyote? At one point, my "It was a fox, dopey" theory gained credence when I came upon a little boy walking his dog in the neighborhood.

Sparkle: "Hi! So, have you seen a fox around here?"
Boy: "Yep! There's one right on this street."
Sparkle: "Oh. I think I saw one not far from here. It's a pretty big fox, huh?"
Boy: "Naw, it's little--well, the usual size! It was running through our yard in the middle of the day, kinda weaving back and forth. It looked kinda weird. Like it was drunk! I wouldn't walk on this road, if I were you. We live right here [points to house behind him], and we only walk Bailey this far right now."
Sparkle: "Oh."

So...the fox might be...rabid?
Next day, drivin' down the road, I SAW a cute little fox--kinda like this one:
I had three thoughts when I saw the fox: (1) BRAKES! (2) SO cute, so scrawny. Poor little thing. I hope it doesn't have rabies. (3) Holy crap, how did I convince myself that's what I saw? This is what was standing on the hill behind us:

NO! Not specifically this guy, but one just like him. This is Quentin, photo courtesy of The Conservation Agency, Narragansett Bay Coyote Study. What a beautiful guy! Just a little alarming to see materialize behind you as you're walking at twilight with your sidekick/dog...

Enough about me: Check out the Narragansett Bay Coyote Study's website! They do really interesting and important work.