Mr. Shy Coyote

It’s never good when you see a trickster like a coyote. Because by the time you’ve seen them, they’ve been there for some time, waiting, watching, planning, using that wily mind to figure you out, before you even know they exist. 

I had been walking down some slow empty highway for a couple of hours, somewhere north of Albuquerque, where exactly I’m not sure, when I first saw the coyote. He was a big one, probably over 50 pounds, missing half his left ear, and with a tail that looked like it had lost some length as well. The sun was just setting in the cool breeze, and his yellow eyes reflected back at me, wind ruffling his scruff as I paused and looked straight at him. He stared back from the edge of the road about 50 feet away.  I walked about 10 feet more before he melted into the brush.

Coyotes don’t like roads or people much. They are almost everywhere, but you rarely see them; too busy using those conniving minds. I thought of this as I sat by my small fire, tucked back into a large rock that was functioning as a windbreak. It was pretty cool to see a coyote that close, but I was also apprehensive. The last thing I needed was a coyote sneaking into camp and eating my jerky or other food. I barely had enough to get into Colorado as it was and I didn’t need any setbacks. Walking there was hard enough. It would have been easier to hitchhike, several people had pulled off for me, but I was doing this walk as a pilgrimage of my own sort, a finding of myself after being lost the last few years. 

I rolled a cigarette, the one vice I was keeping and gazed at the fire. It was good to walk, to be clean, to be sober after all that time. Hard. But good. This was therapy for my soul. It’d take me about 3 weeks at my current rate but that was fine. I laid back, looked at the moon, and gave a small ‘hooooowlll’ towards the sky. 

I saw the coyote the next day as well. At dusk, only 30 feet away, and this time he was directly facing me, eyes glowing in the dim light. It sent goosebumps up my spine. He could hurt me if he wanted. I camped with my back against a rock that night. I was nervous. But as I drifted to sleep I heard one faint howl, and I gave a small wispy howl back. 

I didn't see him for a few days after that. It was back to just me, the side of the road and the occasional truck leaving a trail of dust for me to follow. I hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone in about a week, and as one does, I began to speak to myself, to trees, to birds, and to the coyote I knew was several days' journey back. I told him he was a big strong fellow, and clever, and maybe even kind since he hadn’t bothered me at all. I told him I appreciated that. I sang songs, and wrote one called the “Shy Coyote” about that big fellow and how he had no friends because he wouldn't come out to say hello. I sang it several times, loving the sun, the wind, the loneliness. I finished and gave a small howl which I heard echo back from somewhere.

That evening as the sun set, my scalp prickled and I looked back. A mere 20 feet away, following behind was Mr. Shy Coyote himself. I gave a small smile and kept walking, what a strange coyote. Following me, letting me see him. He could almost have been a dog with those behaviors. That night I gave a howl and he joined it from off in the distance, just the two of us singing his song, our song. 

I was getting close to Raton when I started to get uneasy. There was no reason to feel that way, I just did. I looked around for Mr. Coyote but didn't see him. Didn’t mean he wasn't there boring me down with his eyes. I was under no illusions that he wouldn't eat my food or my body for that matter given the opportunity. I kept walking, though slightly slower and more cautious. 

The sun was just setting when it happened. A truck drove by, a couple of cowboy hats visible in it, and screeched to a stop about 100 yards ahead. It wasn’t the kind of stop that people trying to give you a lift do, it was more like a police car when they think they saw someone run a red light. Loud, fast and aggressive.

I walked closer, and the doors opened. Both of them. That wasn’t good. Two men, both about 6 foot, clean shaven, with their hats pushed back stared at me as I walked up. 

“What kind of hippie bullshit we got walking through here?”

“Just on a walk fellas” I said. 

“We don’t do ‘walks’ here, the driver said.”

The other guy nodded and pointed at my pack.

“We probably gotta dig through that pack and make sure you don't have anything we…. Need.”

“It’s just food. Just enough to make it to Denver.”

“We’ll decide that. Hand it over.”

I didn’t have a ton of options. I was alone, in the middle of nowhere and outnumbered. I walked closer.

“I’d rather not. Just trying to mind my own business”

“Well sounds like we will just have to make you” said the driver and they both laughed in that callous, mean way. 

And then he threw a punch. 

I couldn’t tell you where he came from even. All I know is I saw a fist moving quickly towards my face, and then a blur of grey brown fur whizzed past and a spurt of blood erupted from the hand as it fell back. The man screamed. And clutched his hand, which was now shredded and dripping with blood. The other guy snarled and stepped towards me, and this time I saw what hit him, as Mr. Shy Coyote  lunged at him, grabbed his hand, and eviscerated it. Both men screamed and I fled, running straight into the bush, unsure if they coyote or men would follow. Adrenaline powered my sprint until I found a small washout and huddled in it. 

I was alone. I was safe. 

That night as I ate dinner by the fire I saw a shape approaching. I waited. The coyote stood there at the edge of the light and gazed at me. I looked back. He sat for a while and we just looked at each other, beings that had shared a strange experience. He stood to go, and gave a small howl. I joined him, and we howled together at the moon, at the world, some strange joined traveling companions locked in destiny's grip. He trotted off and I never saw him again, but every time I hear a howl, I howl back now. For my friend, Mr. Shy Coyote.