No, This Isn't ACME!

I was going to write some long winded, no doubt hilarious build up for this story, but when something is this wild, why bury the lead as they say in the newspaper business? (Despite being a "dying medium", newspapers still have some influence. How else can you explain my Drudge-like fascination with fedoras decorated with a "Press" card?) I guess I ended up sticking with the original plan. I can't help myself. Once I start writing, the words tumble out like a politician's insults.

Did you take a gander at the picture over there? Yeah dude, that's a coyote. "Wow, Brian, were you out in the wilderness, tracking the cagey beast? Were you shadowing a Nature photographer? Did you copy that picture from Google Images like you do the rest of your art work? " No, no, and no! I took this picture out my family room window. That's right, Wile E. Coyote was in my backyard. Now I could understand his visit if my yard were over run with road runners, giant strap on rockets or trays of tasty meats, but such is not the case. Except for scattered piles of frozen dog doo, which Wile E. found interesting enough to sniff a few times, my yard is bait free.

I was in the front of the house when I heard "Daughter" shrieking. I'm used to hearing her bellow, but this time her shouts sounded a little more dire. She was so excited, she couldn't even get the word "coyote" out. I must admit, I was pretty jacked myself. How often do canine predators come ambling into your yard? You would expect that my dogs were going crazy with this lupine intruder sitting out back staring at the house like he was casing the joint for an Ocean's 11 type heist. You would be wrong. Baloo, my old (13) dog, rose to the challenge despite having lost her hearing, poor eyesight and a bad hip. She stood at the door and let Wile E. know she meant business. Spike, the young (3) big dog looked out the window, then laid down on the floor without making a sound. He didn't bark until the coyote left the yard. It was like watching someone who hid during a fight, emerge from behind a dumpster and yell "Yeah, and stay out." The entire family was mesmerized watching the coyote watch us. He stayed in the yard about five minutes and then went next door, sitting in their yard, casing their house. He did the exact same thing in the next two yards, and then returned to the cover of the wet lands.

Is it sexist for me to keep calling the coyote "he"? I usually assign the masculine pronoun when unsure. I could have done a little research, but checking a coyote's sex wasn't on the top of my "to do" list.

It's very exciting for me when nature comes calling. I get a thrill out of seeing things where they don't belong. You know, things like vegetables on my dinner plate, some one's granny at a Motley Crue concert or a wild beast perusing my patio. I keep watching for the coyote's return, but alas, he hasn't made another appearance. Now I'm like the young boy from Shane, calling out "Wile E., Wile E." Maybe if I paint a train tunnel on the side of the house.... Later...Brian