Dead Coyote

I tease my neighbors that the coyotes who hang out on their property and get way too close to comfort are just figments of their imagination -- because I'd never seen one despite a number of early morning Sunday walks spent looking for them. Though in truth, I hear the coyotes calling to each other at night. I've seen the paw prints. And I definitely trust that coyotes are as conniving and bloodthirsty as I've been told. While not a violent person who definitely has no desire to hunt for her food anytime soon, the mere thought of a coyote threatening my dog or ripping into a helpless, still-wet-from-the-womb calf convinces me that even I could probably shoot to kill. So when John told me to stop by the neighbors' on my way home to peak in the bed of the pick-up, I had a pretty good idea of what I would see. And there she was -- gorgeous fluffy tail, long sharp canine teeth/fangs, and padded feet just like any neighborhood dog's. I noticed the blood and the pattern it made as it dripped onto the fresh snow below. I could clearly see the bullet hole where a nonfatal shot had shattered her ankle. She had a fairly gaping hold in her lower abdomen -- from a gun shot? a quick exploration to determine if she'd been pregnant? Her eyes were still glossy, but they were losing their luster. Her tongue was lolling towards the ground, though it was rigid. She'd been shot from one of the bedroom windows. Such was the price of getting too close for comfort.