Wednesday, January 22, 2020


Coyotes appear to have made inroads all over North America, making residents of cities large and small in Canada vigilant for their pets' safety in the knowledge that these skilled predators lurk everywhere. There have been reports in the past of coyotes attacking small children and pets in inner-city parks, most often thought of as urban legends. But recently a family in the town of Exeter, New Hampshire had quite the experience, when the father and mother witnessed a coyote attack on their two-year old while they were walking along a forest pathway.


The parents desperately pulled the coyote away from their son, the father tangling with the coyote and coming away with bites on his arm and chest before subduing the animal. Their swift action saved their son from any harm. Its carcass is to be tested for rabies, though coyotes, as predators certainly don't require the presence of rabies to incite them to attack small humans.


The growing assertiveness of coyotes seen singly and in small packs in our area for the past several years has been worrisome with sightings and confrontations, but it has only been this winter that concerns have been heightened with the bold presence of coyotes during daylight hours. Attested to by people we've known for a long time, showing us photographs they've taken along with their accompanying narratives.


We see no remedy to ensure the safety of our two little dogs, themselves tending to be pugnacious with other animals, other than to keep them constantly on leash. A remedy that may seem like punishment for some unknown offence to them when they discover after leaping the length of the extendable leash that they can go no further, but which they have seemed to adapt to.


Our own freedom of movement has been compromised as well, having to keep them leashed rather than allowing them the freedom to spurt about as they've always been accustomed to. Even when we used to keep them in sight as a kind of compromise, we know that is gambling with their safety, and it's simply not enough for obvious reasons. They're small enough for a coyote to swiftly grab and run off with them and our legs are no match for the four legs of a predator.


Other peoples' dogs, of all sizes, out of sight of their human companions, and sometimes in sight, but at a distance, have responded to the presence of a 'friendly' coyote's invitation to come and play, leading to being led into the forest interior where other coyotes await the opportunity for all to turn on the unsuspecting dog. Sometimes the dog in peril, will respond to their human's call to return to them, and sometimes they won't. They'll be injured and require surgery, or as happened last week, killed.


So we're vigilant. Yesterday when we were out on the trails, on a -10C, windy and overcast afternoon, we saw some of our hiking friends at distances on other trails on occasion, a wave sufficing from our position on a ridge to theirs far down below within the ravine or vice versa. On one occasion we were close enough to another trail where a break in the forest screen enabled us to spot a friend leading her three dogs on their perambulation, to hear her shout out to us whether we'd seen any coyotes yet. Meant to be a joke, because we'd seen her the day before, both of us agreeing we never had.


We noted yesterday again, as we had so many times this winter and winter seasons before, that a new crop of wild bee corpses had been tossed out of the hive high above the trail from a huge old pine growing at the junction of two opposing trails. Hundreds of dead bees have littered the snow on the forest floor; distinctly noticeable every time there's a new snowfall.


We can only speculate the number of bees that hive that we first noticed many years ago, accommodates. Every year hundreds of bees, likely mostly overworked drones, die off during the winter months while hibernating, meant to allow them to rest from their frenetic activity pollinating the forest's wildflowers and fruit-bearing shrubs and plants and trees. But it never fails to elicit from us a tinge of sadness at their still and frozen presence.


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