Coyote at the House Spring

I stepped out the door as the sun rose and strolled up toward the House Spring, about a quarter of a mile away.

I was multitasking.

The day before, I resolved to enjoy the cool morning air more often.

I tend to get up early anyway, but those quiet moments before the world wakes up are mine for writing and bookwork.

I can think, enjoy my coffee and organize the day.

Part of organizing the day included preparing for a soil health workshop that I will host on July 15.

Everyone is welcome to attend the workshop by registering on the Northern Plains Resource Council website.

Look for the soil crawl page.

Other people will talk about helping the soil grow more grass, but I need to clean things up around here so I won’t be embarrassed when 50 people stroll across the ranch.

So I decided to take a walk, pick up some netwrap and bale strings left over from feeding last winter and smell the dawn.

I was surprised to join others at the House Spring.

As I approached, I spotted a big coyote drinking from the largest puddle.

He raised his head, trotted about 10 feet and peered at me, unafraid, and well within range of a 250-3000 bullet, if only I had one.

The sun was at my back so I wondered if he struggled to see what I was.

I whispered to my dog to stay close and kept walking straight toward the coyote.

He sat on his haunches and howled.

Long and loud.

By the time he ended his song, I was within 50 feet.

His mate joined him, as fearless as he.

Then he spotted my dog.

This upped the stakes in the game.

I spoke to all of the canines in a calm voice, surprised at my own steady hand and wondering what each of them would do.

The coyote stepped toward me.

My dog’s hackles went up.

The coyote stepped sideways. His mate ducked below the hill, not far away.

As the coyote circled, I knew he was baiting my dog into a fight, knew my dog would lose and knew my dog would seek refuge between my legs.

If I witnessed a fight, at least I would be able to kick the coyote.

Swiftly.

Repeatedly.

I wondered whether the coyote would dare come that close, wondered if I would need a rabies shot afterward.

My general policy is to live and let live, except for coyotes.

Coyotes roam far and wide, finding opportunity for a meal wherever they can.

One year -- before I had guard dogs -- they killed a third of my lambs.

Those who don’t use preventative measures against coyotes should try living on a third less income.

A coyote courageous enough to drink from a puddle within 400 yards of household activity is too threatening for my peace of mind.

Still, I wondered just how brave this coyote was.

I stepped toward him assertively.

He paused, but did not run.

I stepped within 20 feet of him. Four of my body lengths doesn’t seem very far when I look directly into unblinking golden eyes.

He quit circling, facing me like a statue.

I took another step, he glanced toward his mate.

She trotted over the hill.

The coyote looked once more into my eyes, as if to say he was leaving because he wanted to, not because I threatened him.

As he followed his mate over the hill, he glanced back a few times.

Each time, he felt my glare.

He never blinked.