Driving home from work, I've been noticing a family of coyotes mousing a cornfield that had just been cut for silage. I've pulled over a couple of times and watched them hunt, and them not pay me one bit of mind. I'd sit in my truck and watch them hunt and play less than 25 feet away.
It's hard to tell because it's usually dusk, but I'm pretty sure there's a breeding pair and a couple of this years' pups. These valley coyotes are scrawny li'l fuckers, 20-30 pounds tops, so it's hard to judge the age by size.
It got to the point to where I'd slow down and check the field when I went by, hoping to see them.
On the way home last night there was a freshly killed coyote right on the centerline near the field I see them in. Fuck, it kinda sorta bummed me out. Then on the way in this morning I passed it again after being run over all night. It was just a big greasy smear in the middle of the road - you know, coyote paste.
So this morning I was talking to Janet (our traffic clerk and an animal lover) and asked if she remembered me telling her about the coyotes. She got a big smile, said yes! and wanted to know if I'd "visited" them recently.
"Yeah, as a matter of fact I saw one that had been run over close to the river" I said, already knowing how to play it.
She cocked her head to one side, clasped her hands, got a little frown on her face and said "Awwww, was it one of the adults or one of the puppy dogs?"
I looked her in the eye and said "Damned if I know. It's hard to tell when the motherfucker is spread out over 160 square feet."
The look on her face...........