Ah…the untamed wild of our neighbors to the north. When our Canadian brethren aren’t busy dousing french fries with gravy, savoring ham-like bacon or enjoying universal health care, they sometimes engage in a leisurely game of hand-to-jaw combat with wildlife that preys on the family pet. While taking her puppy out, Marie Simon noticed the pup kept trying to run back into the house. She turns to see a coyote lunging for the dog. She grabs the coyote, tosses the puppy out of danger and PUNCHES THE COYOTE IN THE JAW. It runs away. The puppy is safe. The woman gets treated for minor scratches and a rabies vaccine.
Marie Simon, you are woman and I hear you roar.
I too, am the owner of a small dog that probably looks like a T.G.I.Friday’s Puppetizer to most large predators. Usually when I come home I’m greeted with bounding energy and a wellspring of affection. But not yesterday.
When I returned home to a lethargic dog that preferred to lay on the frozen ground than run around outside, I grew concerned. I called the vet’s office. Nothing says good times like, “Wait around for vomit or diarrhea, then call us.” Still, she’s lumbering around looking pathetic. Corey pointed out that perhaps the giant Busy Bone I gave her for her birthday the day before was a bad idea. I waited her out. We sat on the couch, mostly motionless until Corey returned from class at 9 p.m.
Naturally, the little monster ran like a toddler on a 5-hour energy drink binge to the door when Corey returned home, catapulting off the side of the couch and acting like nothing had been wrong. I gave her the side eye for making me sound crazy. She’s been all over Corey over the past few months. Go figure. I’d still punch a coyote for her. But when it comes to the rabbits that taunt her during the summer? She’s on her own.
In other canine related news, I ran across this poem by Jack McCarthy the other day and it made me melt. Read through to the end…and try not to drip on your computer. He’s wonderful. If you agree…go buy his stuff. Support the arts!
WHAT I SAW ON MY WALK THIS MORNING by Jack McCarthy
What did I see on my walk this morning?
I saw no bears or cougars,
though I did see flyers, (though I sometimes think
they post those more to attract than to discourage).I didn’t see any hawks or eagles—
not that I expected to, at that hour;
the early bird might get the worm, but he won’t
catch many thermals at first light.And this morning I didn’t see any coyotes.
I thought I would; later than I was out today,
I’ve seen them hunting for mice in the meadow
that runs alongside the Centennial Trail,
hunting in that cartoonish way they have
of leaping up and coming down with all
four feet together to try to crush the mouse
or mole or shrew or vole or whatever little thing
it is that’s on their coyote breakfast menu.
We’ve seen them doing that even
while they pay absolutely no attention
to the roosters crowing and the hens
clucking in the pens anent the meadow.So no, this morning I didn’t have one of those
eerie visions of coyote crossing the trail
in front of me just barely visible through
the morning mist like a ghost predator;
nor one of those eye-locked silent interactions
in which I try to reassure psychically that I am
not a credible threat while coyote gazes back
at me and seems to ponder whether
I’m decrepit enough to be edible yet.
This morning I saw no coyotes.What did I see on my walk this morning?
One rabbit, and him I almost missed,
he was far enough off the trail
not to be spooked as I strode past
whispering silent prayers to myself
and to whom or whatever else might be
attending; not religion any more, nor yet quite
superstition; someone friended me yesterday
who’s coined the term “spiritual suspicions,”
and I now see that my prayer
falls in that general area.And I did see a deer, a big one,
must have been a buck, but that wasn’t
technically on my walk, I was already
in the car en route home when I spotted him
in the field across the road just north of where
the trail crosses. There was nobody behind me
so I pulled over and parked on the shoulder
and got out to look at him. He was on
the far side of the field, maybe fifty yards away,
which he must have felt was a safe distance,
because for two minutes or so
he just stood there, very still,
and we eyed each other.
Then the traffic picked up
and I went back to the car.What did I see on my walk this morning?
That was about it, for wild things.
There was one other thing
you’d probably like to hear about;
along the lines of that old swayback horse
that every time we see it out in its pasture you say,
“Somebody must really love that horse.”There was this old woman—
when I say old, I’m saying my age,
give or take a few; possibly as young as you,
but I thought not, but in that range.
The old woman had a leash in one hand
leading a retriever, no longer golden, clearly older—
in dog years—than either of us, laboring
a little, but enjoying, as goldens so obviously
do, every aspect of this morning constitutional.The old woman with her other hand
was pulling a child’s red rusted wagon
in which rode a second no longer
golden retriever, this one even older,
perhaps the mother of the one she led,
and able to do not much more than
lift its head and smell whatever cinemascope
high definition three-D summer blockbuster
olfactory spectacle it is dogs so enjoy—and I knew
this woman understood as well as I
dogs gets their kicks from their sense of smell
and she had somehow lifted-prodded-cajoled-
maneuvered-leveraged her no-longer-golden retriever
up into her car and from there down into that little
red wagon, so that even though it couldn’t
walk any more, and—who knows—
maybe couldn’t even see or hear—
it could still smell the rabbits and coyotes,
rooster and chickens, the birds and other dogs—
maybe even deer and cougar and black bear—
all those smells that were about all the pleasure
that old dog was still capable of.What, my darling, did I see on my walk
this morning? I saw love.
