The coyote scare

One of the neighborhood lads pulled up the drive the other day. Nice kid. Wanted to know if I minded him coming onto the property to shoot coyotes.

When I say nice kid I mean I trust that he's going to have a sufficient degree of responsibility to not shoot the cattle and not shoot my dogs. After all, society deems him sufficiently responsible to drive a pick-up and own a gun.

But I hear from his dad that he's not doing well at school. Shame.

We're pretty much over-run with coyotes in these parts. I was backing the tractor up to the woodshed a couple weeks ago and saw one not a hundred feet from the house. Lucy, the new girl, went after it. She hasn't had the coyote scare yet.

Charlie had the coyote scare. Disappeared one night, showed up a couple hours later, foamed up and panting like she was about to die. Took her hours just to catch her breath. Obviously had a run for her life. Didn't stray too far from the house after that.

Same for Boomer. They're cousins of a sort, the hounds and the coyotes, but the coyote approach is pretty simple: if we can't fuck them we kill them. Boomer ran for her life too. The coyote scare.

So now it'll be Lucy's turn. She'll either join the coyote tribe or she'll never stray too far from the house again. And I wish my young friend well. If you can successfully operate a four-wheel drive truck and a 30-06, but you can't succeed in school, maybe there's something wrong with the school system.

But I'll thank him if he bags a coyote or two.