Coyote Chase

The coyote sightings continue. This one was even more unnerving. Several nights ago my husband and I went out onto our screened porch after tucking the kiddos in for the night. It was still light out. A light rain was falling. A fog was rising. 

We began sorting out our schedule, chatting about and planning the upcoming and never-ending string of events. Interspersed with this was discussion concerning our children and their antics. We spoke animatedly, laughing and chatting without restraint, since our closest neighbor is over a 1/4 mile away across a hay field, a valley, on the other side of a strip of woods, the dam, and our lower barn. 

These pictures of deer are from earlier this spring.

Two does munched away in the hayfield that lay before us, browsing contentedly as we conversed. At some point during our conversation their tails went up, signaling possible danger. I figured we had disturbed them, despite their relative tameness. But they soon dropped them and began feeding again. Several times they seemed alerted, but always they went back to browsing. It was nothing unusual. We see such behavior frequently, as deer are pretty skittish.

Then the deer suddenly bounded across the hay, easily sailed over the board fence, and stood stock-still in the gravel lane staring back at the field. I scanned the grasses, seeing nothing. (The hay is thigh high by now, seed heads waving atop long stems.)

Throughout these events, we continued talking and laughing. Eventually, I noticed that the does continued to stand in a high-alert state for an unusually long time. I commented on this and again I scanned the field. This time out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed what I thought was a coyote slinking quickly along with her head lower than her shoulders, just before she disappeared behind a thicket that separated the deer from the coyote. It was about 15 yards from where we sat.

I cried out in surprise and alarm, raising my arm to point out to my husband both where I saw the American jackal and were the deer still stood. We jumped to our feet, unsure of what to do or what would transpire. We heard a short, rasping growl and the deer took flight. The coyote was close behind them, and they disappeared around the house. 

We hurried inside and rushed to one of our bedroom windows, hoping to catch another glimpse. The coyote had stopped at the bushes that border the woods. She  was still standing there, as if posing for the camera that I had grabbed from its hook in the hall on the way. With trembling hands, I tried to focus through the rain and mist as dusk fell.

                                                                                                                                        After a short time, she turned around and began to head the direction that she had come, sniffing the air for a few seconds as if unsure about what she should do next. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Then she paused, paced in a few slow circles, and tested the wind again.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Unhurriedly, but deliberately, she strolled towards the gravel drive. 

                                                                                                                                                                       She followed along the curve of our driveway as we trailed her from window to window in order to get the best view. She even glanced at the house as if she saw us. 

                                                                                                 She continued, seemingly carelessly, to where our cement sidewalk meets the gravel. Then she paused, lowered her head warily, and looked toward the front door, as if she expected someone to come out.

                                                                                                                                                                                          Finally she turned, headed toward the forsythia bushes, 

                                                                                                                                                                                       picking up the scent of the rabbits that had so recently been nibbling dandelions there. 

                                                            With her head down, neck outstretched, and nose to the ground, she slowly slipped into the shadows. We stood there breathless, awed by the close encounter with such a wild creature, astonished at the brazen antics of the intrepid hunter.

The mist continued to curl and rise. Darkness gradually fell. And as the wonder and excitement began to fade, fearful thoughts began to creep into my mind. "That coyote sure got close before I spotted her... I'm surprised that she didn't mind our noise.... It wasn't even dark out... Everything I've read said that coyotes rarely hunt deer and only hunt them in packs... she was only about 20 feet away... The hay field borders our whole back yard... She could have crept up on one of my unsuspecting kids!" Maybe the fears that I touched upon in a previous post about coyotes aren't entirely unfounded.