“I heard them!” Herman acknowledged.
“Even if I rushed out here, I would have been too late. Get a shovel. We’ll bury him here.”
“I’ll do it,” Herman bravely volunteered. “You go back to the girls. Tell them I will bury cat.”
“Why did those damn coyotes bring this poor cat here to kill him? Why not in the desert?” My anger had overpowered the sadness for the death of the cat.
“Wolf gave you message, warning. He will come again. That’s how he can keep you frightened.”
In a way, Herman spoke the truth. The coyote is a member of the wolf family, closely related to the grey wolf.
I was startled by Trooper, who brushed against my leg, then moved to sniff the dead cat.
“Do you know him, Trooper?”
Trooper looked at me a moment, his eyes narrow. I, of course, would never know if he recognized the dead cat. Had it been his friend, a casual acquaintance, or a total stranger? But, nevertheless, I intuitively knew that he felt the killer’s presence.
Now the enemy had brought their reign of terror to our property. They killed that cat, not for food, but for pleasure, and perhaps, as Herman suggested, to send a message: they planned to attack us, and soon.
Trooper walked with me back to the office, where I found the children busy with coloring books and crayons at the conference table. As young children are able to do, they were blissfully forgetting the day’s encounter.
Herman buried the cat at the spot where it died and placed a small wooden cross that had he assembled from twigs and string on top of the grave.
When I told the children what Herman had done, they rushed out to see the results.
In a few minutes the oldest girl returned, this time a big smile covered her face.
“Grandpa! Come see!” she insisted.
I took her hand as she led me down towards the gulley. There were her two sisters, on their knees, next to the grave. Wild flowers they had recently picked lay across the small mound of earth.
“We are praying for the cat, Grandpa. We don’t know his name, but God does, right?”
“Right,” I said with a smile.
“Would you like to join us for one prayer, Grandpa?”
I bit my lower lip and replied, “Of course.” We kneeled together and prayed for the feline.
CHAPTER 21
The War
“We cannot, without becoming a cat, understand the cat mind.”
St. George Jackson Mivart, London
THE COYOTES HAD BEEN OUT there again the previous night, howling, sending a message of terror throughout the community. Once again sounding very close to our home, their cries kept us awake until dawn. The pack had seemed to change tactics and began attacking during daylight hours, as well as after dark. Coyotes are intelligent animals and therefore adapted quickly once they discovered that humans were keeping their pets inside at night for safety. No one expects a coyote attack in the daytime. But a few days prior, that had all changed.
The mutilated remains of the cat we had found the day before was without a doubt the handiwork of a coyote, and the bodies of two small dogs discovered by their owners along our country road, less than a mile away, only confirmed a neighborhood-wide hypothesis—the coyotes were no longer killing only for food. They had become thrill-seeking killers, delighting in the attempt to destroy any living creature their size or smaller.
Over the next few days, I spoke with several neighbors, who shared the same anger, to discuss the slaughter of pets in our area. A vigilante-like atmosphere had taken hold of normally nonviolent families who were all now ready to “take up arms” to fight the coyotes. The last testimony I heard came from Jim Butler. “I saw the three coyotes kill Mrs. Stein’s cute little white dog, a bichon, I think. Only a puppy,” he reported with anger in his voice. “She was walking him on a leash when the coyotes came from different directions. They snatched that pup, leash and all, right from her hands. They carried it across the street and tore it apart as she screamed for help. I got after them with my rake. Too late. They ran off.”
Jim paused to catch his breath, then continued. “The next day those animals tried to attack a two-year-old boy playing in his sandbox in their front yard. His mother saw them coming, grabbed a rifle, and killed one. The other two ran off. We hoped they would go back into the desert where they belong, but, no such luck.”
“So, now there are only two?”
“That’s right,” Jim replied, wiping at his brow with a blue bandana. “A large one, tan with some black color in his coat, and one about half his size, tan and small but fast. I’ll shoot ’em both if I ever get the chance!”
After Jim’s disturbing report I finally accepted what everyone else already understood: that those two coyotes must be destroyed before they killed again. They were now dangerous to both animals and children.
The police were of little help. Jim called them once, via the 911 emergency number, but by the time they responded to the call, the coyotes had vanished. We were too far out of town and police cruisers seldom patrolled our area. Federal wildlife authorities gave standard advice: “keep children and pets inside.” That was of little comfort.
It was as if war had sliced into our community, a war with terrorizing beasts who killed for no good reason, and as with any war, almost everyone had suffered the loss of something they loved. The brutes had, as per Jim’s last report, killed and eaten all but a handful of Ruth Parker’s guineas.
I had often encountered coyotes during desert scenic tours. Because we as humans are visitors in their wilderness, the idea of harming one never entered my mind. But now the situation had altered dramatically. The coyotes had invaded our territory and were killing at random.
The thought of Trooper being killed by a coyote both angered and sickened me. The cat and I had become so very close since I rescued him as a kitten more than a dozen years before. We had played together in the house and yard. He had taught me how to stalk and use shadows at night for concealment. We had napped together and often ate at the same time. At night, the cat curled up next to me and I wrapped my arm around him as we fell asleep together, listening to his purr.
Usually, at some point during the night, he would leave to explore, returning at dawn to resume sleeping. At 6:30 a.m. he would wake me so I could begin my daily activities. He would follow me about the grounds and often took a nap on my desk in the office as I waded through mountains of company paperwork.
Since coming to us, Little Brother followed Trooper everywhere and copied his routine. Unlike his companion, Brother was an ordinary tabby, more interested in simply playing than hunting or learning much of anything.
These cats were not just pets—they were members of our family. And I would protect them as such.
I had succeeded in domesticating Trooper, helping him grow from a wild bobcat kitten to a lovable, ordinary cat. True, he was a rather big one, but his friendly nature was like that of a domestic cat. At times it seemed we were alike in certain ways, the cat and I. We knew each other’s feelings with a glance. So it is with very close friends. Had I made a mistake? Should I have let him retain his wild nature? What would he do if confronted by a coyote? Had he retained the wild instincts necessary for his survival?
All those thoughts haunted me as I prepared a cup of coffee the morning after my conversation with Jim. I shuffled to the kitchen door and opened it. Fresh desert air swept into the room through the screen and the opening cut near the bottom, which the cats used as their favorite entry.
While sipping my coffee, I gazed out the kitchen window to enjoy a view of the rear of our property. Trooper and Brother were not there. I assumed they might be visiting Teri in the office. That visit was part of the cats’ morning routine preceding their snack and noontime nap. Alternatively, they could be on some adventure in the wooded gulley which separated our property from the desert wilderness.
Suddenly my heart leaped out of my chest. Near the far corner of the property a
large coyote had begun a slow approach to the kitchen door. I stared in disbelief. A coyote in my backyard in daylight, bravely trotting towards the house! Jim Butler had described him perfectly: it was a very large coyote with some black color in a tan coat. Where was his hunting companion? The other coyote must be on the property, but where? Why had they divided forces? Were they that confident of success?
The coyote lowered his body and slowed his pace to a crawl. Perhaps he planned an ambush near the kitchen door, knowing the cats would soon return for lunch.
I set the coffee cup down and rushed to the bedroom to retrieve my .45 automatic. I pulled the receiver and let it fly forward, locking one cartridge in the firing chamber. I returned to the kitchen, lay flat on the tile floor, and began a slow crawl towards the door. My movements were not visible from outside as the screen mesh of the door reflected sun rays. I inched on, staying at an angle from the cat hole. If the coyote came close to the door, I could, with careful aim, shoot through the opening.
The crouching coyote had closed the distance to only twenty feet from the concrete stoop. He paused. Had he heard my breathing? I tried to hold my breath as I aimed directly at him through the hole. I would have only a second to fire. It had to be a fatal shot. I didn’t want to wound the animal. He had brought so much sadness to my neighbors; I’m sure each would take the shot if given the opportunity.
Now he was only about twelve feet away. He raised up with nose twitching as he tested the breeze. His chest was in my sights. His eyes widened. He must have detected my scent. I squeezed the trigger. The report of the pistol was deafening, but my aim was good.
The bullet struck the coyote in the middle of chest and the shock of the impact knocked him backward. His body twisted once and he fell dead.
I stood up and stretched to calm my nerves. I was not accustomed to killing anything. I gulped down the remaining coffee and lifted the two-way radio from its charger. Where were my cats? Where was the other coyote? I started to push the talk button of the radio to see if Teri could already be at her desk, when her voice came on, startling me.
“Dad!” she called from the radio. “What’s going on up there at the house? Did I hear a shot?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I shot one of the coyotes. He’s dead. There is another one, but I don’t know where he is. Have you seen Trooper or Brother this morning?”
“Haven’t seen Trooper. Herman just walked in. He says he saw Trooper down in the gully about thirty minutes ago. I saw Brother from my window. He was playing with a bug at the base of the big pine tree. Stand by! I’ll take another look.”
While waiting for her response, I moved through the front doorway and headed for the office.
From her window Teri had a panoramic view of our narrow side yard directly outside the office. It sloped southward, then dropped several feet into the gully. I was near the end of the office building when her voice came through the radio again.
“Dad! My gosh! A small coyote just entered the side yard from the east!”
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s a few feet out from the building, moving slowly. He’s almost directly under my window now. Oh, no! I think he’s going after Little Brother!”
“Where is Brother?”
“He’s still at the pine tree. Brother turned. He sees the coyote! Why doesn’t he escape up the tree? The coyote knows he’s been spotted. He’s slowing down to a crawl.”
“I’m almost there,” I spoke between breaths. “I’m at the end of the office, coming up behind the coyote . . . about thirty yards east. I’ll try for a shot when I get closer. Bang on the window and try to distract it.”
“I already did that. He’s programmed for Brother. I don’t think anything will distract him! Hurry, Dad! Brother doesn’t stand a chance. He’s too small!”
“I’m turning off the radio,” I said, placing it on the ground.
I could see the coyote clearly and there was Brother, nonchalant as always, using his front paws to play with something. Then the golden kitten began to roll about in the dust, flopping over and snapping a quick look at the coyote. He seemed to be taunting the enemy, daring him to come closer. I wondered if he knew something both the coyote and I did not.
That silly Brother. Why doesn’t he scamper up the tree before death reaches him? I wanted to shout at the kitten and tell him to jump, but he was too young to understand. At his age the world held wonderful games to play each day and a never-ending display of things to explore. He could no more understand that the world contains evil than he could comprehend my commands.
My gun hand shook, even when I tried to steady it with a grip from my left. If I fired, I might miss and hit Brother, and unless I hit a vital area on the coyote, he would still charge at the kitten, covering those last few paces in seconds.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a movement to my left, in the gulley, but it had moved so very slowly. Perhaps it was my imagination? There! It had moved again!
Now I knew that Trooper was in the gulley stalking the coyote, quietly matching its pace, safely out of sight. Little Brother was not so silly after all. His rolling game teased the coyote, holding its attention as Trooper moved closer. But what would the big cat do if he came up from the gulley? Would I witness the slaughter of two friends I loved dearly?
The cat knew I was nearby. Though we exchanged no glances, still, he felt that I was there, and somehow I understood his thoughts. My pulse quickened and my breathing felt labored. Was it stress and anxiety? Maybe my system suffered from the traumatic experience a few minutes ago when I killed an animal, or was overloaded with my fear of losing the cats.
But then those feelings disappeared quickly, and were replaced by a strange sense of invincibility. As I recall now, my legs were steady, not shaking. Yet a part of me seemed to be lifting . . . as if floating away. I was drifting directly to Trooper. I became aware of every smell, and every sound had intensified. The sage, creosote, and even the sandy earth where I stood emitted different aromas, all stronger than I ever than any I had ever known. I became tense, yet somehow felt strength in every muscle.
My breathing returned to normal, and a wonderful, contented sensation trickled through my body. My eyes saw color, brilliant and out of focus at first, then sight returning with unbelievable sharpness. I knew now that I was with Trooper. We were moving together. We were the same being. Our feelings, as the result of years of closeness, had brought us together at this critical moment. Efforts to turn or back up were useless. I felt propelled on and on, drifting in a helpless state. And then confidence replaced that helpless feeling.
I was not really moving, yet I felt each paw step the cat placed, quietly, one in front of the other, pause, then one in front of the other, oh so slowly . . . slowly.
We were moving up from the gulley and lowered ourselves to the ground. The grass brushing my stomach as we inched towards the enemy. We knew we must attack. It would not be a hit and run warning. Now it would be a final fight. We would aim to kill, even though we might die. So it is in the wild.
The fur on our back and neck bristled, amplifying our appearance. Our eyes were wide open, fixed intently on the coyote. Our minds registered every move he made. Our long whiskers were forward; our large, pointed ears lay back in a protected position.
There was an urge to rush the coyote, but we knew we must resist that temptation . . . for a moment longer. Closer, a little closer.
How the coyote hated that kitten. The desire to tear Brother apart for being such a tease must have been overwhelming. That held his attention, which had locked in on the kitten.
Our breathing slowed, each breath deep and calculated, and our mouth became wet, lubricating our teeth for combat. Attack now!
Suddenly I felt the thrill of speed as we dashed forward, charging to close those last few feet. The wind cooled my face as it rushed past. I felt us spring into the air and the thrill of a brief flight. I felt us smash into his back and the salty taste of
blood. Trooper had sunk his fangs into the coyote’s neck at the base of the skull.
I released a deep breath and tilted backward. I had been released from that strange dream world and became a human spectator once more. My mind, in any state, dream or awake, could not completely comprehend the ferocious fight before me. Two wild animals, almost equal in weight and size, were locked in a mortal combat.
With his superior stalking, the cat had remained silent, and he gave no warning during that swift attack. But once they locked together their growls were horrifying, the sounds echoing through the desert. At that point of impact, Little Brother finally decided it was time to dart up the pine tree and rest on a large branch.
Trooper’s claws sank deep into the coyote’s back, securing his grasp as the enemy began to jerk left and right in an effort to free himself of the cat. Then the coyote ran in tight circles, stumbling twice before falling on his side. The cat’s bite stunned the coyote. The bite was crippling, but not lethal.
As the two warriors hit the ground, the coyote attempted to roll and trap the cat beneath him. But that move provided the exact opportunity the cat needed. As the coyote started to roll, the cat released his grip and sank his fangs into the side of his enemy’s neck, just below the jaw. The cat’s head jerked from side to side as fangs ripped the throat. Blood gushed from the bite, then slowed to a trickle.
The coyote’s legs twitched and his chest heaved for a moment. Then he was still, utterly defeated. It was over, but Trooper’s jaws remained locked on the enemy’s throat. He held that death grip for a minute or two longer, finally releasing his defeated foe and crawling backward a few feet. Trooper lay on his belly, front legs stretched out towards the coyote, rear haunches raised, ready to leap. He watched and waited. Then he stood and crept slowly towards the coyote. With whiskers held back against his cheeks, he leaned forward, placing his nose against that of the enemy. His whiskers moved to the front. I worried that the coyote might be faking death and spring back into action.
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