Soft Paws

Black asphalt scorches at the bottom of soft, sensitive pads belonging to tiny paws, ones that have not yet had the time to build upon the callouses of life. A coyote pup comes to hesitate beside the road as she yelps, her dark eyes glaring warily at the surface that has just betrayed her in a way that she had never even fathomed imaginable.

It may only be spring-time in this part of the world, but the harsh rays of an unforgiving Florida Sun are a formidable foe to face no matter the season. A mixture of soft grass, leaves, and dirt that has been shielded by a canopy of trees, hidden away amidst the dense safety of the forest — that’s where this little one’s paws would normally thrive.

Here and now, however, she has been driven away from the sanctity of such places, and in turn she faces an obstacle that has left her absolutely stumped. A situation that leaves no other option than to let a whine creep up the back of her throat, uncertain. She raises her pleading eyes to a mother that had already paused in her crossing the moment she’d noticed something amiss, the absence of her daughter sending her darting back to her side.

If she had truly been given a choice, it is unlikely that this mother would have decided to take her pup as far from the den as she has, especially at this age. Yet the demand of man waits not for this young family, and so, when the machines had started their rumbling, there was little choice in the matter. The decision had already been made for them.

Eyes that hold the wisdom of seasons long past stare down at the pup in a gaze that is gentle, but firm. This mother has lived through her own fair share of hardships. She has grown up in these wilds which she now may never get the chance to return to. In fact, this is not the first pup that she has had here, though she is the first of her pups to have survived this long after birth.

She is determined not to make her past mistakes again — a seasoned dam, one could call her, with each loss adding to her wisdom and serving as a reminder. Perhaps it is this wisdom that makes her so stern, already knowing the dangers of the road that quite literally lies ahead of them.

There is no time to wait and linger. While these roads may not be very busy or in an area still ‘in-development’, the monsters that lurk upon these paths are still some of the most deadly of foes that these animals can face, if not more dangerous than any natural predator they have. A beast made of metal with power and force that must seem almost otherworldly to these creatures. Equally unforgiving as it is unnatural.

Each second spent here is another second spent in danger — those eyes convey this, and yet still the pup cannot help but hesitate. Who can truly blame her? It is her first time living, after all, and the world around her is awfully scary. Her paws hurt, and it’s hot outside, and her stomach is hurting. . . At a month and a half old now, she’s already been weaned off of her mother’s milk and onto meat. Even in the most plentiful of seasons, there isn’t a whole lot of that to go around, especially when territories dwindle.

This mother had been forced to expand her hunting grounds out further and further for quite some time now. That is how she has become so well-acquainted with roads such as these ones, having been left to scavenge through sub-urban neighborhoods and live off of road-kill to provide for the both of them.

At her pup’s blatant refusal to move in front of the road, the mother coyote huffs. With a light nip to the pup’s backside, she watches, bemused, as her daughter yelps and scurries onto the road for safety. The very same road that she had been so terrified of previously, now her supposed safe-haven.

Having now conquered the burning heat of the black paint path, the pup stands unsure atop the road, looking around. It isn’t until her mother trots confidently in front of her, leaving no time for her to worry about the growing heat beneath her paws, that she kicks back into motion. She does her best to keep up, smaller legs having to run to keep in stride, though her little tail wags the whole way along.

They make it across into the welcoming brush of the palmettos, where they will get the chance to cool themselves, having safely passed their first trial of the day . . . However, the first of these trials is far from their last.

For this road is just one of many this pair has to cross on this day. While it may have only been the first time that this pup had hesitated in such a dramatic way, the lessons that were learned from this instance will do little to nothing to improve this pup’s chances in the long run.

In fact, the next road that they would cross is just like the other in most ways ; rarely busy around this time of day and left super-heated in the Florida sun. It should have gone just the same, and yet . . .

Well, there are a million different excuses that could be given for how exactly it may have happened.

Maybe there was nobody else on the road. Maybe they hadn’t even gone that far past the speed limit, or they didn’t have a chance to see them before they walked in front of that truck. Maybe it all just happened too fast.

Whatever the case may be, it does not change the outcome. In the end, those soft paws will still never get the chance to harden, and the mother coyote will be left to move on in mourning.

In the end, she is just one little coyote pup, left all alone. Nothing more than just another piece of road-kill to drive past, burning atop the very same asphalt she owes her death.