Sacred Stories
So I have a story to tell you about Mama Coyote.
If you told me this story, I’d probably call you a liar. But I’m telling it, and I swear it’s true.
I’ve said before that I live in rattlesnake country, and I do.
Curiously enough, I haven’t seen any this spring or early summer. Maybe the coyotes are keeping the rodent population down, or maybe it’s because it’s been so dry. I don’t know.
Last evening, Maggie and I were out for our last walk of the day, on the road in front of my place. I’m oohing and ahhing over the clouds and sunset, and Maggie is walking beside me. When you’ve walked with a dog for more than a dozen years, you develop a sort of sixth sense. Even when they don’t make a sound, you know when they stop, when they’re listening. She stopped.
I looked ahead of us, and there was Mama Coyote, blocking our way forward. Not more than a dozen feet away. Now this is unusual. The coyotes are generally pretty shy, and walk behind us, ready to dart into the sagebrush should we make a noise, or look too long.
Maggie turned around, to head home. Her hackles weren’t raised, so I knew it wasn’t because she felt danger. I, the ever curious human, however, wanted to figure out what was going on.
So I stared at the coyote. She stared back. Not aggressive, just self-assured. Stubborn, even. No signs of rabies or other sickness. Just standing there.
A movement another ten feet behind her caught my attention, but she did not turn to it. Odd. Coyotes are the most situationally aware animals I have ever known. Scent, sound, sights, they inventory it all and act accordingly.
There, in the middle of the road, coiled up and ready to strike, was a medium-sized rattlesnake. Not rattling yet, but poised, should any disturbance arise.
I quickly turned around and joined Maggie, already on her way home. I looked to the side of the road, and there was Mama Coyote, walking beside me, back to her normal self, not looking me in the eye. Just escorting me home.
Now for the really eerie part. My late Border Collie Angelo used exactly the same behavior when he saw a rattlesnake. He’d put himself between me and the snake, and he’d become an immovable object. Sometimes I couldn’t even see the snake, but I knew enough to trust him.
Coincidence? Reincarnation? A wild animal watching out for a weak human? I have no idea. But, gentle reader, I broke Maggie’s rule, and I threw the coyote two cookies. And I marvel at the world we live in and how lucky I am to be in it.
(Published in Sacred Stories by permission. Find “Leland Hermit” on Facebook. He has several books – fiction and nonfiction – available on Amazon. Check out Leland Dirks Books.)