My Coyote Story
It was a gorgeous, mild, sunny afternoon in late December or early January, at least five years ago. I was walking with Jackson, my fluffy little dog, on the path that runs parallel to the Monument, and rejoicing in the sunshine, which was beginning to melt the four or five inches of fresh snow covering the path. When we were almost back to the car, a young jogger came running up to us, nearly out of breath. "Be careful!" he panted. "I just heard a bunch of coyotees !" Now, I had heard the coyotes, too. There is at least one coyote family that lives on the national park land, and it isn't unusual for me to hear them, especially around sunset in the winter. In fact, it hadn't been too long since I had actually seen one adult coyote, leaping from one prairie dog mound to another, trying, unsuccessfully, to pounce on its dinner. I had snapped a couple of pictures with my phone, but the coyote was too far away, and too close in color to the brown prairie grass, ...