Street Shadows

by Claire Gilchrist

  Alyssa didn’t bother Callie that day, allowing her the time and space to heal. However, the next day she put a muzzle on her again and took her in for another antibiotic bath. Seeing the still-angry wounds on her side and back, she frowned, doubts resurfacing about Callie’s ability to survive. The wounds were still red and irritated, although they didn’t look worse than two days ago, which was one good thing. Looking at all of the injuries together, it was clear that the little coyote had had a tough go of it. Alyssa shook her head as she gently bathed the pup, wondering what kind of troubles Callie had gotten into in her life so far. She looked down at the sweet, furry face, and as she smiled, she reminded herself not to get too attached. She checked the bandages on the leg, and then put Callie back in the crate, where she cowered in the corner, glaring at Alyssa.

  It was another week before the vet decided that Callie could move from the crate into the small grass enclosure, beginning to put some weight onto her leg. Alyssa was glad — she could now stop working so closely with the coyote, and feeding could become a bit more natural. She also felt a little bit sad — she wished that she could have the time to gain the small coyote’s trust. But she was well aware that this would endanger Callie later, because it was necessary for her to remain wary of people. So Alyssa watched Callie hop around from the safety of the video camera mounted on the fence of the enclosure. She shook her head. Despite the fact that the little pup was doing better, she still wasn’t confident that Callie would be able to make it.

  SEVENTEEN

  MALA

  Scruff

  Because there was no other option, Scruff established his new home base under the elevated train. The weeks passed in a hungry blur as he attempted to survive on his own. At night he roamed the back alleys, looking for rodents and garbage. He found some edible plants and grass in a few of the green patches outside a building. He tried to stay away from other coyotes and humans, but it was difficult. The streets were so busy here that he had a smaller window of time at night in which to roam and hunt. All the parks and the quieter streets were well defended by other coyotes, and he had to steer clear of them. Each morning, he returned to his patch of weeds under the train, hungry and disheartened.

  However, with each day, he learned something new that helped him to survive. He distracted himself from his sadness by figuring out new ways to get food, sneaking through back alleys and finding all of the spots where the garbage wasn’t well protected. The change in diet from mostly natural to more garbage wreaked havoc on his digestive system, but he had no choice, eating whatever he could find.

  However, even as he gained more survival skills, the weather got worse. The days grew shorter and colder. One night, he was skulking behind a restaurant, looking for rats that liked to congregate around the garbage bins, when he felt an odd wetness hit his nose. It burned, and then felt very cold and damp. He looked up to see where it was coming from, and more cold-hot pieces hit his eyes. Blinking, he saw that there were pieces of white fluff falling from the sky everywhere. It was similar to rain but much colder. He jumped under a small awning and watched it fall slowly down, sticking for a moment on the ground before melting away. He smiled. It was odd and beautiful.

  The beauty was fleeting. As the night wore on, the stuff began to stick to the ground. It was cold on his paws, and the wind made his wet fur freeze. Shivering, he trotted back early to his home base before the night had ended. He found a spot under the bushes where the snow could not penetrate and curled up in a tight ball, tucking his nose under his fur. Out of the wind and on top of the dirt, he felt a little warmer, but knew that this might be a new and very serious threat.

  In the days after the first snow, Scruff was exhausted. He wasn’t able to sleep well, curled up and shivering against the frozen ground. He found it more tiring to travel in the soft, mushy, white stuff, and he didn’t find much food. On the third night, as his stomach felt particularly empty, he set off with grim determination. He would find food no matter what. He had to.

  He headed along his usual route, following a back alley behind a busy street. Wind funnelled into the alley, blowing ice into his fur. The cold bit into his exposed skin and he shivered. He turned around, keeping his back to the wind, and decided to try a new route. Maybe it would be less windy somewhere else.

  A few blocks in the other direction, he came across a parking lot he had never seen before. He smelled that it was another coyote’s territory, and was about to keep moving when he saw a human dumping something that smelled delicious into a large metal container. He strained forward, sniffing delicately. It was meat — he was sure of it — and something sweet, too. His eyes widened as he saw some of the items from the boxes miss the side of the bin and tumble onto the pavement. The human either didn’t mind or didn’t notice, returning quickly to the building. Scruff crept closer, sniffing carefully. His stomach rumbled and he decided to chance it.

  Reaching the side of the container, he detected a strong rodent scent, mixed with the meaty garbage smell. Ears perked, he homed in on the little rustles of the rats who were eating near the Dumpster. Rounding the side, he saw one and fluidly leapt toward it. With two graceful bounds he was on it, taking it completely by surprise and killing it instantly. He ate the whole thing hungrily and then began eating the human food. Just as he was crunching on a vegetable, he caught a faint smell — another coyote. He stopped short, sniffing the air with each nostril — it was the coyotes who lived here! He had to get away immediately. Pivoting, he took off at a gallop back to the alley. As he glanced behind him, he saw two large silhouettes pursuing him.

  Feeling the rush of adrenaline, he increased his pace, leaning his head forward to lengthen his stride, turning left out of the alley and onto the street. The street sloped sharply downhill toward a big highway. He ran halfway there and flicked his ears back to see if he was still being pursued. He chanced a glance behind him, and his eyes widened when he saw the two coyotes barrelling toward him, their sounds muffled by the increasing level of noise on the highway. They must be chasing him to the edge of their territory. The only problem was that he didn’t know where that edge was. He dashed down the hill without a plan, stopping at the grass that marked the edge of the on-ramp to the highway. He looked in front of him at the almost constant stream of cars. Their tires made high-pitched hissing noises on the wet road. He looked behind him again. The two coyotes were almost on him now.

  “We’ll teach you to stay out of our territory!” the female barked at him, baring her teeth. She was tall and lean, her grey eyes flashing with anger. Recoiling, Scruff found himself running along the edge of the highway. He thought desperately that if he crossed it, they probably wouldn’t follow. It might be his only chance. Seeing a small gap in the oncoming traffic, he leapt into the road and began to run across. The wind swirled hard from all directions, and lights blinded him. He raced for the other side, not seeing anything anymore. He felt a particularly strong wind behind him and heard horns blaring and the screeching of tires on pavement. He felt dirt under his paws again and tumbled down an embankment — he was across!

  He looked back, shuddering, but didn’t see the coyotes. He felt his heart beating twice as fast as usual, and he couldn’t think. He ran a little farther away and then paused, trying to collect himself. He didn’t want to try crossing the road again, but he didn’t know how else to get back to his home. He decided to follow the road downhill to see if there would be a better place to cross.

  The rain let up as he trotted along, and a few stars poked out. He didn’t feel cold, still filled with adrenaline. He travelled for about twenty minutes, following the slope downhill, keeping the highway within earshot to his left. It became clear to him that finding a safe spot to cross was going to be very difficult.

  Just then, he was distracted by a salty odour that was very new to him — was it a kind of food? A new kind of territory? As he continued, it got stronger, but all the houses to his right blocked his view of what it might be. Eventually
, his curiosity won out and he left the highway behind, trotting down steep embankments now, threading his way through backyards and alleys. As the smell increased, he became aware of a sound — a rhythmic splashing. Then, suddenly, he was there.

  The snow disappeared at the edge of a vast expanse of water. He stepped out onto grey earth, and it felt nothing like dirt. It moved underneath him, destabilizing him. It was both soft and scratchy. Scattered around were large logs and slimy, green pieces of something that smelled salty. The grey earth led to the edge of the dark grey water, water so much larger than the pond at the golf course that he didn’t know what to call it. He decided to call it the Giant Pond. A loud shushing noise filled his ears.

  He approached the water cautiously, but suddenly it was chasing him, soaking his legs with icy water. He barked at it angrily. He watched it for a minute, and then realized how thirsty he was. He ran toward it, trying to lap at it before it came back at him. Immediately he spat it out. It was salty and weird tasting. He barked at it again.

  Behind him, he heard a laugh. He froze, turning to see a very old female coyote perched at the top of the embankment, watching him. Her grey fur was patchy, but he could see strongly defined muscles underneath. She barked a friendly greeting. He backed away slowly, looking around for his escape options just in case.

  “Hey — don’t run away!” she yelled at him over the whooshing of the water, coming toward him. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you around here before.”

  “I’m not from here. I’m just passing through.” He found himself backing up a little more, trying to keep some distance from her, but then the water lapped his legs from behind and he jumped toward her, yelping.

  “Looks like you’ve never seen the ocean before!” she laughed.

  “The ocean?” He decided not to mention to her about the Giant Pond.

  “Anyway, what brings you here, ah — what’s your name?”

  “Scruff.” After that word, Scruff found himself hesitating. He wasn’t sure what to say. The truth seemed very long and complex.

  The old coyote looked at him with curiosity, seemingly unfazed by his lack of explanation. “You don’t have to act like I’m about to eat you. I’ve got better things to do than terrorize scrawny little coyotes. I’m just curious — I don’t see young pups on their own very often around here. Where’s your family?”

  “I don’t have a family.”

  “Well, okay, then. Everyone’s story is different.” She didn’t push him for more, pausing before continuing. “Well, Scruff, nice to meet you. I’m Mala.”

  Scruff took a breath, finally relaxing. This was the first coyote he’d met since leaving the hillside who didn’t greet him with aggression. In fact, it had been a while since he’d had a conversation with anyone.

  “Is this your territory?” he blurted out, curious.

  Mala threw back her head, laughing. “Who would live here on this smelly beach? No, I have a good territory not far from here, with my family. I just pass through here looking for food. It’s not a great spot, but sometimes I find rats around. Gotta clear out before day, though. Lots of humans come through here.”

  “Oh.” Scruff was a little disappointed. He knew that daylight would be coming in just a few hours and felt exhausted at the thought of leaving to find somewhere to spend the day.

  “I guess you’ll be looking for somewhere to go, huh?” she asked, seeming to read his mind.

  Scruff hesitated, then decided to open up a little bit. “I crossed the highway to get away from some coyotes, and I don’t really want to try that again. I need to find somewhere to cross back.”

  Mala barked out a laugh. “You crossed that highway? What are you, crazy? I’m shocked you didn’t get flattened!” She paused, thinking. “You know, the only way I know to get back across is pretty difficult. If you follow the shoreline — the side of the ocean — for a whole night, you’ll reach a park. It’s a really huge park — beautiful. The highway lifts up off the ground there and goes over the ocean to the other side. It’s called a bridge, and it connects this land with the land on the other side of the water.” She pointed with her nose to the twinkling lights shining from across the water. “There, right where the bridge lifts up, you can just walk right underneath it, and then exit the park on the other side. And there you go, you’ll be on the other side of the highway.”

  Scruff felt his heart lifting. “Thanks, that doesn’t sound too hard.”

  “Well, the problem is that Storm and her pack control the park. They’re strong and they don’t let coyotes pass through. They’ll kill to protect their territory, because it’s the best around.”

  The word kill bounced around Scruff’s mind, bringing up images of blood and gnashing teeth, and a body falling through the darkness. He shivered, feeling shame deep inside of him. It took him a moment to tune back into what Mala was saying.

  “— possible, if you were desperate. But it is pretty risky. You’d have to cross during the middle of the day. That way Storm and her pack might be asleep. Of course, the humans will see you, but I think they are less dangerous than the alternative.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “Well, I actually came from the lands on the other side of the water, many years ago.” Mala nodded her head at the little twinkling lights across the ocean.

  “From all the way over there? On the far side of the bridge?”

  She smiled. “Yes, hard to believe, right? It seems so long ago now. Those lights are at the edge of the Wild Lands. It was spring, many years ago, and I was ready to move on from my parents. I felt restless, so one night I followed the path on the side of the bridge. I was scared, but I was too proud to turn around, so I ducked through the park and arrived here. It was possible back then because Storm and her pack-mates weren’t defending the park yet. Anyway, I ended up meeting my mate, and then we had pups, so I never went back.”

  “What was it like there, on the other side? In the Wild Lands?”

  “Well,” Mala sighed. “It’s different. There are fewer humans, many more green spaces. It can be harder to find food, which is odd, because there is more space in general. I’m pretty used to the way it is over here, and my memory isn’t so good anymore. But from what I remember, it’s beautiful.” She paused, and then looked at him with a smile. “Anyway, I should go. I need to find some mice before it gets light.”

  “Thanks for all of the information.” Scruff stood there, reluctant to leave the first friendly face he had met in months. Mala gave him a last quick smile and scrambled back up the embankment, disappearing into a yard. Scruff felt an intense loneliness, wanting to follow her. Knowing that she couldn’t help him, he sighed and began to plan his next moves. If what she said was true, he only had an hour or two before this beach would be no longer safe. He followed her advice and headed along the shoreline, the immense darkness of the sky and ocean wrapping around him.

  EIGHTEEN

  LOST

  Pica

  Many days passed in the enclosure. Pica began to feel a little bit better each day, and soon the most painful aspect was boredom. The only thing that broke the monotony was waking up and looking around for food. She found herself constantly wondering about what had happened to her family. Where were they? Had they found a safe home? What had they thought when they came back to the field for her and discovered that she was gone? That last thought was the most hurtful of all. They surely thought she was dead now, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her heart ached thinking of how they wouldn’t even be looking for her anymore. Even if she did manage to escape, how would she ever find them again?

  One day dawned like any other. Pica was sleeping soundly in her small den, a crate set in the corner of the enclosure. The crate was small and dark, and gave her a sense of security when she slept. This morning, though, she was woken by a loud clanging noise. Jumping up, she discovered that a door now blocked the entrance to the crate — she was locked in! She heard new human voices,
and then the ground was shaking. Suddenly, she realized the crate was moving.

  There were bursts of new sights and smells but she couldn’t make sense of them through her panic. Very soon, though, the den stopped moving and the door opened again. Pica stood still for a few moments, afraid to move, and then took a step forward to peer out. She was in a new enclosure. This one was bigger than the last, and had some clumps of bushes in it. She ran across to the bushes as fast as her stiff leg would allow her, and squeezed underneath them.

  In this new place, the sound of traffic was a little bit louder, but she heard humans less often. At first, she was hopeful that she would be able to find a way to escape, because there were so many more possibilities than in the last enclosure. However, after systematically investigating every single corner of the pen, she could not find a single weakness. After a few long and tiring hours of trying, she concluded that it would be impossible to chew or dig her way out.

  As the days passed, boredom found her again. When she was lying down, she missed the warm fur of her mother curled up tightly around her. When the snow first fell, she puzzled over it, wishing she could experience it with her siblings. It was no fun to play in it alone. Every time she saw something new, she felt sad because there was no one to share it with.

  Then, one day, the woman returned. Using a long stick, she managed to pin Pica’s head to the ground. Pica struggled and cried out, trying her best to get away, but she was helpless. She couldn’t believe it was happening again. The woman slipped the straps over Pica’s mouth and put her in the crate. The next hour was traumatizing, as the woman and another human pushed and prodded at her. When they were done, she was brought to a place she had never been before. She was breathing hard as the woman took off the straps and released her, and she ran to the far corner as fast as she could, cowering behind a tree.