No regrets, Coyote
We just come from such different
sets of circumstances.
— the prophet joni
Mo and I are sitting in the car at the bird loop when it comes sauntering past. The local coyote.
I suppose having a predator on the running loop is a good incentive to keep going, but this one seems to be timid enough. It lopes past a heron sitting on the edge of the pond, barely glancing at a couple of chihuahuas that could make a fine snack. Clearly, it belongs.
Mo said he’s a female, but that’s only because females make these assumptions. Also apparently because of mammaries. I am a gentleman and don’t look.
I’ve seen either him or his ancestors on the loop for years now. They seem to do well in a wilderness composed of golf courses and Fancy People Houses. I suppose it’s easier than trying to make a living in the desert, where development and drought caused the wildlife unemployment rate to surge years before a virus leveled the playing field.
There’s something about running next to a wild creature. This must be what it feels like to toe the line with Walmsley. It’s too hot to be out, and yet here he is. Tough? Hungry? Rabid? I think Noel Coward wrote something about only mad dogs and Arizonans in the midday sun. But then he was a Coward.
I’m standing on the precipice, ready to leap. What’s the point of it all if you don’t take a chance every now and then? The coyote comes from a different set of circumstances, but still he reminds me: Do what you must to live.
No regrets, Coyote.