This story begins with When the Coyote Calls. The prior chapter is Part IV

I awoke to the ground beneath me, covered in a thick blanket of pine needles and leaves. On top of me, wrapped around me was a large, massive body. Incredibly heavy. I could not take a deep breath, but was warm despite my lack of clothing.

A long, slow inhale drew cool air across the back of my neck. Following a pause, an equally long but warm exhale told me my captor was not human, for the scent of animal filled my nostrils. When I attempted to turn onto my side, the weight of the body on mine was too much, and I was held fast.

I opened my eyes to see a beam of sunlight across the forest floor, just a few feet in front of me. I also recognized the massive, black paw of a bear.

“Bear?” I said.

I did not receive an answer, but heard snoring.

“Bear? Is that you?”

No response.

“Bear! Wake up!” I yelled as loud as I could, given the limited capacity of my lungs under such a mass.

“What? Oh! Oh my! Is that– are you, are you beneath me?” I heard from behind my head.

“Yes, it’s me. You are on top of me Bear. Please, get off.”

“I am so sorry. I meant only to keep you warm, for a few hours. But it seems I fell to sleep.”

He rolled off of me and the warmth of his body on mine was replaced by the warmth of the sun. I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes. I was facing the sky overhead, blue and unencumbered by clouds of any kind. Bear was to my side, stretching, yawning, his massive teeth white at the tips but stained toward the base. I thought he should brush his teeth more often, laughed inside at the thought, and then my situation came back to me.

Bear was blinking his eyes, slowly waking, head resting on paws extended. My backpack was at his side.

I called to him again, “Bear?”

He opened his eyes fully and stared at me, “Yes.”

I rolled slowly onto my side, the pain in my head and neck still present. Seated, with my legs bent before me, I reached up to feel the dried blood on my neck, a scab already formed over the punctures and scrapes. Fear and anger surged with the memory of the previous night, outrage at the betrayal by those I thought were my friends. I had taken the Coyote in. Two years prior I had befriended the Bear. Yet, in the end, he did nothing when the mountain lion attacked.

“You are angry with me, I know,” Bear said, his eyes fixed on mine at first, then he looked down to the ground. He must have read the emotion in my face.

“Did you know, all along, what would happen to me?”

“Yes. I knew,” he said calmly. Any sense of humor in my otherwise, usually quite clever friend was lost.

“You knew? And you did not stop the lion? You did nothing!?”

“I did nothing … or I did all I could, depending upon your point of view.”

“My point of view? Are you kidding me?!” I was angry now, leaning forward despite the pain. I continued, “I was naked. I still am! I had been running barefoot, chasing the coyote for, for I have no idea how many miles. Without clothing, food, or—only to have a mountain lion bite my throat until I bled and passed out. I— I thought I was dead!”

“Lion promised me he would not let it come to that,” Bear said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone.

I started to sob, for the full experience rushed through me again. Exhaustion. Hunger. Fear. Letting go. Calm. All mixed into a single, instant memory. I jumped to my feet, wanting to run, but as soon as I was standing the trees above me spun wildly, the sky suddenly to my left and then my right and—I fell again. My knees and palms pressed into the earth, my back arched, tears and spittle falling onto the dry needles beneath me. My stomach heaved, but without food or water, nothing was produced.

The sound of my own pain was replaced with that of the stream. I looked up from my position. The tiny waves formed and collapsed again, just a few feet in front of me. I crawled forward on hands and knees until my fingers and palms were cooled by the water on the shallow shore. I leaned forward and drank, nearly falling into the water for the rush of cold caused my vision to go dark.

I sat back onto the bank. The bear snorted and walked toward me. In his mouth he carried my backpack.

“Coyote. He brought this for you, while we slept.”

“Coyote,” I repeated, shaking my head.

He took one step closer and carefully set the pack at my feet, then turned and walked away. I reached down, without making eye contact, and slowly pulled onto my body my underwear, pants, shirt, socks and shoes. My feet remained incredibly sore, such that I considered that barefoot might be less painful than shoes. The jacket was comforting for its warmth and sense of security. Yet, I felt oddly disconnected from these things, as though they belonged in a museum for who I once was.

I removed the food from my backpack, tearing bread and cheese with my hands and teeth. I was shaking, nearly in tears again, more from lack of nutrition than the emotions this time. The apple was cool and refreshing.

I tossed one apple to where Bear was seated. I heard it hit the ground and roll, but I did not look up. The sound of the bear eating the apple was quickly replaced by the sound of footfall. He was standing again, by my side.

My trust had been broken. I no longer felt safe in his presence. I shied away, leaning to one side.

He said, “We should go.”

“Why should I go anywhere with you?”

Bear simply looked back.

I waited.

“I did this for you.”

“For me?!”

“Yes, for you.”

I rose to both feet, the sugars in the apple and fat in the cheese granting me some strength and focus, the ability to stand again. The bottom of my feet yet burned, even against the relatively soft weave of the thick socks.

“You, you asked the mountain lion to attack me—for me?”

“In a way, yes.”

I raised my hand to my neck again, some of the dried blood flaking and falling onto my fingers. Shaking my head I said, “I— I don’t understand.”

“When we first met, I showed you my world, from ridge top to valley bottom. That world is growing smaller and more confined, with the increased number of your kind. In that place I am afraid for my future, the future of what we call home—”

I interrupted him, “You wanted for me to feel your fear?”

“No. I wanted for you to feel your own fear … and then let it go. You have to let it go, as I have, to be free.”

I took a deep breath, held it for a moment and looked over his shoulder, to the blue of the horizon between the pines, the sun overhead, and back to his massive paws pressed into the forest floor. I forced my eyes to rise to meet his. In that moment, I realized that what he had shared with me was real, what Coyote and Lion had taken and given back to me again was now a part of who I had become.

“Then I should thank you, it seems, for what you have done for me,” I said, partly in sarcasm, partly in truth.

He did not respond, but lowered his face and walked forward until his breath warmed the back of my hand.

Yet feeling resentment, I retrieved my backpack from the forest floor, and turned to walk side-by-side with the bear. We followed the trail back, toward where this adventure had begun. I recognized sections where I had run behind Coyote. I recalled the freedom of that run, the lightness I felt. I recall no longer concerned with what lay behind, rather only what lay ahead.

I regained my comfort with bear, but truly, I regained confidence in me. At my suggestion, Bear and I explored side valleys and walked along high ridges. We talked little, for there was not much to be said. As we moved, two or three times I heard a branch break or a stone kick loose not far away. Coyote I assumed, following, listening, yet the trickster even in the shadows.

Bear asked, “Did you ever find the woman, the one you had lost?”

I laughed, remembering our first conversation long ago, “Yes, I have.” I paused to enjoy the comfort I felt in those words, “We have built a new friendship.”

“Ah! Very good! I hope I can meet her, soon.”

We walked a bit further, when he said, “I would like to introduce you to someone important to me.”

I heard branches break underfoot again, and from the shadow of a fir emerged a massive bear. I could not help but step back, pressing against Bear without awareness of my action. Nudging me forward, Bear laughed, “It’s ok. This is my companion, my mate I told you about when we first met.”

I took two hesitant steps forward. She was massive, much taller than my friend such that I felt I was looking nearly straight ahead. She also approached me, and pressed her snout into my hand. But then she rose up, without her paws leaving the ground, and our noses touched, hers moist and cool. Her wide face and head, much larger than my own, pulled back and she exhaled. I could smell her breath, neither sweet nor foul, but alive.

Bear walked around me and stood at her side. They greeted each other with noses and paws, and what sounded to me like grunts and moans. Coyote emerged from the same shadow. She-Bear nodded in his direction. He turned toward me, his jowl pulled back in an attempted human smile, “Adiós mi amigo. Espero verlos pronto.” Then he was gone, quickly, without a sound.

Bear said, “This is where we again part ways, for now.”

“So soon?”

“I have need to start a family. It is time, for me.”

“I understand.”

I turned to his companion, “It was good to meet you. Perhaps we will cross paths again.”

“I would like that very much,” she said, “Until then.”

“Until then.”

Bear nudged my hand once again. I rubbed his head and ears and he buried his muzzle in my stomach.

He and his companion then turned, without a second glance, and walked back from where we had come.

I watched them until their earthen color blended with the forest floor, tree trunks and underbrush such that only their gradual motion enabled me to detect them from their surroundings. I tightened the straps of my pack, turned, and continued along the ridge and down a rocky out-cropping.

A few hours later, just as the sun was meeting the horizon and the blue sky was tinted with purple, I could see the cabin in the distance. The temperature dropped quickly and a light breeze picked up. I arrived to the back door just as the last natural light faded. No longer could I see distinct color in the path before me.

I opened the door, stepped in, and was home.

This story concludes with The Gathering

This story begins with When the Coyote Calls. The prior chapter is Part III

The coyote called out, “You’re late, amigo!”

The bear looked up and saw me, ignoring the coyote’s implication, “Ah. It is good to see you again.” Looking at me from head to toe he added, “All of you.” I remembered the bear had a good sense of humor.

I wanted to run to him, to wrap my arms around him, but remembered this was not a petting zoo, and C.S. Lewis did not pen this story. The bear walked directly to me, his eyes at the height of my chest. His breath was warm on my skin. He looked down to the coyote and said, “I see you have been to your tricks again, bringing this human here without his clothing.”

The coyote looked down, and for the first time since I had met him, he was without words to respond.

I didn’t know what he meant by ‘tricks’ but responded to the bear, “It is good to see you again, also.”

“It has been two full turns of the seasons, and then some,” he responded.

“Yes. It has,” I responded. I was disappointed, hoping for a stronger reunion. We had shared much when we first met, and yet now, he seemed as though he had forgotten, or no longer cared.

“Much has changed. Much is the same.”

Coyote looked over his shoulder, to the bear, and then to the forest which surrounded us.

Bear said, “You appear nervous Coyote.”

Coyote did not respond, at first, but took a step back and turned, looking down the trail. He glanced over this shoulder at us and said, with some concern, “Tenemos que ir ahora.”

“Where are we going now?” I asked?

Coyote responded, “You’ll see. Soon, you’ll see.”

I looked to the bear for more information, assurance, but received none.

Coyote trotted away at a fairly brisk pace. For this, I was thankful for the chill of the late afternoon was affecting me. I warmed again, with the movement, but without food knew I would soon be chilled again. We followed a game trail, Coyote in front and Bear behind me. The fairy tale nature of this venture occurred to me from time to time. I found myself hoping we would stumble upon other humans, hiking or sitting along side a campfire. I pictured myself jogging by, my animal companions on either side of me. But we encountered no one. Surely, the keen senses of either of them would detect another animal long before any encounter.

We continued for another hour in the ravine alongside the stream. I stopped to drink, my body reacting to the exertion of the day. I was dehydrated, my mouth dry, my head a little too warm. I lowered myself and took the chance of contracting an illness, as no stream in the lower forty eight States was without parasites in the past fifty years. But it would be several days before I would show signs. By then, I would be back to the comfort of the cabin.

My energy returned to me. My feet were submerged in the cold, shallow water of the bank. I recalled those times when as children my brother and I would dare each other to submerge our hands in cold water, to see who could tolerate it the longest. I looked up from the stream and noticed a beam of sunshine just in front of me, wide enough to warm my bare skin.

I stood and moved a few feet upstream. Over my shoulder I could see Coyote and Bear waiting for me on the trail. Coyote was sitting. Bear remained standing. They were not conversing, or at least, not in a manner I could see or hear. Once I had warmed myself, I moved toward them saying, “I am excited to have you as my companions today. This adventure is, is beyond my imagination. But it is getting late. I need to head back to my bag, my clothes, if not the cabin before too long.” I felt uneasy, not wanting to undermine the efforts of my hosts, for they were intent upon showing me something important to them. They just stared at me. I continued, “I, I don’t mean to be rude. I really want to continue. But I am naked,” I laughed uneasily, “I won’t be able to spend the night out here, not like this,” pointing to my body. “Do you think maybe we could–”

Both the Coyote and Bear lowered their heads just as I heard the faint crack of a branch breaking behind me and without pause, another. I spun ’round to see what was approaching when I was knocked to the ground, the weight of something tremendous fully upon me. My face hit the ground without my hands breaking the fall. I felt pine needles and small stones embed themselves in the skin of my right cheek, forehead, and shoulder. Whatever was on top of me was incredibly strong, it’s body covered in fur which now pressed against my skin.

I tried to roll out from beneath its weight, struggling to regain my feet but I could barely move. I called out, “Bear! Please–” and then the hot breath of a powerful jaw engulfed my neck, both front and back. The teeth pierced my skin and I felt the warmth of my own blood. The teeth were perfectly placed to crush my airway, to suffocate me. I could not call out. I could no longer breathe.

My eyes filled with tears. Not for the pain, but for the fear that I felt inside. Fear of what would happen next. Fear of my life ending so unexpectedly. Fear of the unknown.

Then I felt anger. I felt cheated by Coyote whom I had helped—or had he needed help at all? The trickster. My friend the bear, he knew too. He knew this was where I was being led. What did I do to deserve this? Why?! I opened and closed my eyes rapidly to beat away the tears. I saw Bear and Coyote as they were before, heads bowed, watching. The did not come to my side. They had not even moved.

My right arm was pinned beneath me. My left arm outstretch, fingers opening and closing autonomously. I wondered why they did that for they no longer felt a part of me. Then I saw the paw, shifted to just inches from my nose. The claws were extended. The mountain lion relaxed and the weight on my back increased. The last bit of air in my lungs was forced out. I noticed the claws no longer dug at the dirt with the same intensity.

Many years ago, before I headed into the back country of Denali National Park, Alaska I had read a book about bear attacks. I would be alone there for two weeks, several days at a time without seeing another human. I wanted to better understand the behavior of bears. I learned as much about how humans behave when confronted with something so powerful as their own death. Those who could walked away, ran, or fought back. Some screamed for help until it came or they were overcome. Some survived. Some did not, the story told by those who found the remains.

One woman remained still while the bear scratched at her skull, the sound of its teeth echoing in her head over and over again. She lived. I never understood why she didn’t fight back … until this day. I thought of all the ways to respond. I recalled with rapid clarity all the things I was suppose to do. But my entire body was immobilized as much by the presence of this creature as by the power of his teeth, jaw, and claws. I gave in.

As when I was a child, I lost all sense of time. One moment was an hour. That hour was an entire day. And that day was without comparison to any other I had lived before. I had run with a Coyote. I had been reunited with my companion the Bear. I had played my part in the game, and I played it well.

I could see neither Bear nor Coyote nor the paw in front of me for my vision was gone. I heard Coyote bark and then howl. Bear shuffled his feet and snorted. The breath of Lion above me remained warm, even soothing.

Slowly, the voices in my head became silent. The chatter was gone. No concern for deadlines. No worry for finances. No confusion over relationships with friends and family. I was free of language, my thoughts replaced with emotion. While I had in what seemed like hours before grieved for the loss of all that I considered—I no longer heard any sounds. Even the warmth of Lion’s breath was gone. I was taken by a sense of calm like none I had ever experienced. I felt honored to be given the life I had lived, to experience something so incredible.

I smiled. Then I was done.

This story continues with Part V

This story begins with When the Coyote Calls. The prior chapter is Part II

I loaded my backpack with a block of cheese, the remaining third of the loaf of bread I baked two days prior, three apples, and several liters of water. The sun dominated the clear blue sky leaving no trace of the snowfall the night before. I packed a pair of gloves, warm hat, jacket and shell, as I did not know how long we would be gone.

Coyote said, “You humans are fragile, no?”

“How do you mean?”

“You need so many things to survive, just to go from here to there, de aquí para allá.”

“Compared to you, yes.”

I zipped my backpack shut.

“We were not always so dependent, I suppose. Our ancestors were more hardy, even a few generations ago. We’ve become soft.”

“Es gracioso, no? A species becomes soft but dominates the land.”

His words made me stop. I saw the irony in what he said, “You are right coyote, we as individuals are less able to survive, yet we proliferate.”

“It is like that for us too,” he paused, his voice carried a bitterness in its tone, “because of you.”

I turned to look at him, my hands still busy with the packing of my bag.

“Because of us?”

“Sí. More of our kind now live among your people. We eat your trash. We carry away your cats, your dogs, sometimes your small children.” I shuddered at the thought, but knew it was true. He continued, “For some, it is a natural adjustment. For others, it is something else.”

“You are scavengers. You have always eaten what others leave behind. You fill a niche, between the larger wolf and the smaller fox. How is this any different?”

For the first time, I believe my words caught him off guard, his response not prepared. It was then I realized he was almost always one step ahead of me, cunning even in conversation. “Yes, we are scavengers, but we are hunters too. The fox,” he sneered, “el zorro chases los ratones. The fox could never bring down anything larger than the rabbit,” he replaced disdain with respect and continued, “but the fox, he can catch small things we cannot.”

I wondered how he felt in comparison to the wolf, but thought better of asking.

“You are ready to travel, mi amigo?”

“Sí. Listo.”

“Bueno,” he replied, “¡Vamos!”

I locked the cabin behind me, slipped the keys into my pocket, and followed the coyote. The white bandages were bright against his golden coat. I felt a sense of pride, to follow a creature which was wild and not under my control. No whistle, no command, nothing I could say or do would make him sit, stay, or fetch. There was a certain pleasure and a level of fear in knowing this about my guide.

“Where are we going?”

“Follow me. You will see.”

I tried again, “For how long will we walk?”

“Until we arrive,” he responded, slightly annoyed.

We rose up and out of the basin in which the Buffalo Peak Ranch was nestled, along the path I walked two or three times every week at sunset. The coyote followed the path created by the UTV used by the ranch hand to bring tools, chainsaws, and shovels to the farther corners of the ranch.

When we reached the barbed wire fence, the coyote slipped between the bottom two strands without hesitation. I realized his injuries were not slowing him in any noticeable way. Ron was correct, a missing leg and the coyote could still out pace me, in the short run.

“You ate the rabbit, didn’t you.”

“I was not given any. Our pack leader fed the others, but not me.” He paused, and then without looking back asked, “It bothers you, no?”

I hesitated, “Not really,” I lied, “You have to eat.”

“But you’d prefer we graze like the cows or sheep which we eat.”

“No, that’s not true.”

“Have you ever killed an animal?”

“I used to fish. I shot prairie dogs when I was a kid, at the request of a rancher in South Dakota.”

“Mmmm … prairie dogs are delicious! But that rabbit, it would come when you sat on the porch.”

He had been watching me, for days, I realized. This was the same coyote who had hung back when Trevor and I chased them from the cattle. Again, on the ridge, the one who was just ahead of me. I realized I was following my stalker and felt myself slow a bit.

“Yes, I find the rabbit to be … cute?”

“Lindo. That is something we coyotes feel for our newborn young, playing with the adults. But it doesn’t last long. We do not feel cute for another species. The rabbit is our survival.”

We reached the highest part of the open land, where the Hayman fire had cleared the trees a decade ago. We started down into the deep ravine at the base of Buffalo Peak. I had explored this area two years prior, seeking boulders for climbing.

“You humans see the animal world in a strange way.” The coyote was able to keep a full, steady pace and talk at the same time. I found it difficult to keep up. If he noticed, he did not say anything. “You draw lines between you and them. You believe intelligence separates you, that your soul makes you unique. You believe you are given dominion over us, over everything.”

“This is part of our heritage. It goes back a long, long time in our mythologies, our fairy tales, and our religion.”

He snarled, stopped, turned to look directly into my eyes, “Do you believe you are superior to me?” There was an subtle charge of anger in his voice, “That you have a right to this place in spite of me and my kind?”

It was a bold, direct question. I needed to respond carefully, for the answer was complex. “No,” I hesitated, knowing I had lied again, “That’s not true … yes, I did feel superior, until—if everyone knew you could talk, that you could communicate like this, it would change our minds.”

“Change your minds? Do you believe that is what we want? For you to treat us,” and he emphasized the word as though it were poison on his tongue, “humanely? No! We don’t want to be your pets. We don’t want to be put on a leash or forced to live within a fence. We want our freedom to hunt, to roam, to live and die as we have for millennia.”

The coyote turned and moved at his quick pace again. We were now moving South and East, following the base of the mountain. We remained in the ravine but were climbing higher. I estimated that if we continued in this direction, we would arrive to the edge of the Lost Creek Wilderness in twenty minutes.

“Now. Now we cannot even move for but an hour without crossing a road, walking beneath a power line, or coming across a human home. Your airplanes!” at that he looked up to the passenger jet bound for Denver, its engines changing pitch in their final descent, “How they make my head hurt! ¡El dolor—is enough to make me loco.”

The coyote stopped, looked to his left and right, raised his nose high in the air, but did not answer. He smelled something that I could not. He continued. The bandage on his foot was falling off, but he didn’t seem to notice. I wondered, again, where we were going.

“What is it that we will do, together, today?”

He did not answer.

“You said something about the bear, the one I met two years ago. Will he meet us somewhere?”

“You will see,” he replied.

I was feeling uncomfortable with the lack of information. I stopped to look over my shoulder. I knew my location, and could return to the ranch within an hour, but that did not make me feel any better.

The coyote sat down. He reached back and tore at the bandage with his teeth.

I offered, “I can remove that for you.”

He snarled and continued to tear at the tape until it came free. Beneath, the wound was closed, no longer moist. He spat the tape onto the ground and relied, “No.” And then following a pause, “Gracias.”

Something had changed. He was deep in thought, but about what I did not know.

We reached the highest point of the ravine, where the drainage began. On this saddle, we could turn left and South West toward the Lost Creek trailhead, or right, over the saddle and down the other side. Without hesitation, the coyote turned to the right and lead us into the wilderness.

I removed my pack as we walked, reaching inside to find an apple. I had to stop for I was tripping over roots and stones. The apple in my hand, I looked up again and he was gone. I wanted to call out, but felt it would be a sign of weakness, further evidence my species had gone soft.

I walked for ten minutes without seeing him, but continued on a game trail which I assumed he had followed. I knew I could turn back at any time, if he did not appear again, and return to the cabin. But I wanted to continue. I wanted to know where he was taking me.

On the surface of the moist soil I could see his prints. I knelt down, and noted the claw marks. Further up the trail there was a spot where he had stopped and turned in a circle. I found his scat, very much warm and fresh. It did not smell of anything in particular, and I was reminded how our own smells much stronger.

Then I noticed something in his scat—the wind shifted and I could smell, just for an instance, the sweetness of breath. I looked up to see the coyote staring at me, just a few yards away, his eyes most certainly not those of a domestic dog. He had been watching me.

I rose and said, “You lied to me.”

He did not respond, nor did he waver in his stare.

“There is rabbit fur in your scat.”

If he could smile, he did. “So human, you are an animal after all. You followed my prints. You noted where I stopped. You learned what I ate. Just now, you smelled my breath.”

“Yes. All of those.”

“Then finally we arrive to the beginning of my story, in my domain. This is where you will follow me, without your pack, without those things which give you comfort.”

I was simultaneously thrilled and horrified, for I knew what he was asking me to do. I had wanted this since I was a child, since I dreamed of being the animal man. Without another word from the coyote, I dropped my pack to the ground. I placed my sunglasses on top of the pack, and removed my clothes: jacket, shirt, pants, underwear, shoes and socks.

I stood there, no longer separated from the coyote. I noticed the bandage around his ribs was removed. His ear had heeled quickly, no sign of infection. At that rate, it would be only a matter of days before the fur was growing over the tear in his side, and he would again be hunting without limitation of injury.

“You call us the coyote, the trickster. Do you know what we call you?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

“‘The ones who run blind’ for you are always moving quickly, but never do you know where you are going.” He paused. Took a deep breath, and then commanded, “Follow me, if you can.” This time, I was certain he was smiling.

He leaped into the air and landed facing one hundred and eighty degrees from his prior position. No sooner did he land than was he already twenty, thirty feet down the game trail. I hesitated, realizing I was leaving all that I had packed behind. But this opportunity, this chance to run with the descendant of the wolf, was not one to pass me by.

I launched after him, instantly aware of the texture of the pine needles and soil beneath my bare feet. I ran not as I would on concrete, but with short, rapid strides, pressing toes against roots, fallen branches, and large stones. Each footfall was a conscious act, each the precise placement of my body’s weight and momentum. There was no room for wondering thought, no concern for anything more than the run.

I was lighter without the pack, without my clothes. I could move completely free. My arms and hands became instruments as important as my feet, countering my balance as I twisted and turned. I was able to change direction in mid-air. Once I bounded over a large, fallen log only to realize the trail took a sharp, hard turn. I reached out to grab at a branch of the nearest pine and corrected my course, landing at the edge of a small cliff, crouched, shaking.

I caught my breath, realizing how close I had come to falling. I looked ahead and the coyote was there, looking over his shoulder back at me; just as he had when I had spotted him on the far side of the boulder many days before. I looked down, caught my breath. My feet were bleeding. I looked up again, oblivious to the tears in my skin, then bounded ahead with intent to catch my challenger.

We ran for what felt like hours, the coyote always just slightly ahead. It may be have been my imagination, but it seemed I was gaining on him. I knew humans were the longest distance running animals on the planet; that we could, over time, outrun the antelope, the gazelle, even the cheetah. But I had not considered that my coyote companion too may tire, after some time. Which one of us would stop first?

I realized I no longer knew where I was. We were in a deep ravine in which the sun did not reach. I had been sweating intensely. I stopped to catch my breath and was quickly chilled in the breeze. My bag was far, far behind me. Where exactly, I had no idea. I was alone, truly alone here, but for the coyote who enticed me into this chase.

I stood tall, recognizing the true pain in my feet for they were not accustomed to this kind of running. The adrenaline of the chase was leaving my blood. I was not certain I could continue. I started to panic, knowing I could not go back, not without the coyote’s assistance.

“You look frightened mi amigo.”

“I- I’m cold. My feet hurt.”

“Estás vivo!” He walked down the path toward me, continuing, “In fear, in the face of death even, is when we are most aware of who we really are.” His tone had changed, more serious, more sincere. The game was over.

“You ran well. Another twenty minutes and you would have overtaken me. Perhaps another time, when your feet are stronger, you will show me how the humans can run—before machines ran for you.” His words carried a sense of respect, but the bitterness returned.

I was shivering now, and feeling quite vulnerable. Naked, I sat down on a log. The coyote standing before me.

He seemed unconcerned for my comfort, “Because you make things with your hands you have control over,” he looked around, “over all of this. But if you had paws instead of fingers, no amount of intelligence would give you the power to control.” The resentment in his voice was clear now.

He was pacing, like a caged dog in a shelter or a zoo. I grew concerned.

“You use numbers to calculate our behavior. You predict our populations’ rise and fall. You catch us to study our blood, to learn if we are coyote, or coywolf or coydog.” He stopped, and looked directly at me, “Have you applied numbers to your own kind? Have you placed yourself on a graph to see what you have done and where you are going?”

I realized he was in fact seeking an answer, “Yes. We have. We see the issues of population growth as very, very real.”

“And what will you do about it?”

“We, we,” I already knew my answer would only support his claim, “We improve our techniques for farming and for harvesting animals. We incre–”

He cut me off, “But you do not curb your populations. You only work to make them grow.”

I shook my head, “It’s not so simple. It is against our cultural and social norms to tell each other how many children we should have. In fact, some believe god tells them to have more.”

The coyote laughed, the first full laugh I had heard from him. It was like the barking I heard outside the cabin. He continued, “A god who tells you to overpopulate is a god who desires more to follow—at the cost of her own creation.”

He turned away from me and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice had returned to that when he first spoke the night before, “You helped me heal. I will do the same for you.”

I didn’t know what he meant, but when he walked forward and nudged my feet with his nose I understood. I leaned back and he licked the bottom of my feet clean, the wounds stinging at first, but not for long. The left, then the right. I lowered myself from the log and sat cross legged on the ground, leaning back for support. I had stopped sweating, my skin dry. No longer did I shiver.

“Gracias,” I offered, but he did not respond.

I wanted to continue the conversation, I realized, because I felt ashamed for the actions of my species. The coyote sat next to me now, the warmth of his body helping me to find comfort. I spoke in a quiet voice, the kind used across a campfire at night. I reached down and picked up a small stick, drawing in the dirt between us as I spoke.

“Yes, we see our patterns. Our population growth, the plagues and famines. Even our warfare is something we show in mathematical form. We, like you, like all the animals, behave according to resource allocation, confines of geographic space and time. We are coming to this conclusion, and yet …”

“You change nothing.”

I raised my voice and countered, “If you had unlimited rabbits at your disposal, enough for everyone such that you did not have to hunt—What if each of you could have your own rabbit every night, would not your population also grow?”

He saw the logic in my words, “Sí, es verdad. We have seen this, from time to time, our populations growing then dropping again. But it is never sustained. Not for long.”

“Neither will ours. At some point, we will be confronted with very real limits of this planet.”

“At that point, I hope I am dead. My children too. The coyote will survive, maybe even prosper, but it will not be a world for me,” he said.

“I agree.”

Then we both heard a branch snap, followed by another. The relative silence of the forest was broken by a grunt and heavy breathing. The one ear of the coyote stood up before he rose to his feet. Startled, my heart raced, I also stood, again becoming aware that I was fully naked.

I looked to my front and both sides, then down to the coyote to looked straight ahead. A large, black shape emerged from the trees and came toward us on the trail. It was a bear.

This story continues with Part IV

Copyright © Kai Staats 2013

This story begins with When the Coyote Calls

“Ron?”

“Kaister meister! What’s happening?”

I have always loved the way Ron greets me, nearly the same since I was a kid in Springfield, South Dakota. He made me recite supercalifragilisticexpialidocious before I was offered one of the cookies his mother had baked. He was a college student then, living in a dormitory my parents managed.

“I’m doing well. A crazy night and unusual morning, but I am ok.”

“Bets and I just got back from a five mile hike, up to the top of Table Mountain, down the backside, and home again. I did the whole thing with fifty pounds in my pack. Not bad for an old man, huh?”

“Nope. You push sixty back a dozen years.”

“Well, we’ll just see how long I can keep this up. My doctor says I’m in a good shape and I can still carry a hundred pound pack in the Brooks Range, so I guess I’m do’n ok.”

In the background I heard Betsy’s voice, “Hi Kai!”

Raising my voice a bit so it would carry across the room from the speaker phone, “Hi Betsy!”

Ron picked up the phone, disconnecting the speaker, “So, what’s up?”

“Well, how close have you come to a coyote?”

“Oh, I don’t know Kai. A few times, when the wind was blowing the right direction, I surprised one or two,” he paused then his voice raised excitedly, “But there was this one time when I was up in the Wind Rivers and came over a ridge, just me and a buddy from back in the Dakotas. Right there, in front of us there was a whole mess of ’em. Maybe seven or ten. More than we had ever seen at one time, playing, frolicking in the meadow. But boy, you should ‘ve seen them jump up and run when they saw us com’n. That was pretty cool.” I could hear the smile in Ron’s voice, his incredible passion for all things wild impossible to contain. As a hunter, writer, photographer and conservationist he felt more deeply about preserving what remains of the natural world than anyone I had ever known.

“Do they, do the coyotes ever attack humans?”

“Historically, no, not really. Not before we industrialized this continent and fenced it all in to run our cattle. But what’s happened now is that the coyote, Canis latrans, is actually spreading, increasing its range as the human population encroaches on its territories. There are more reports of coyotes eating domestic dogs and cats and even,” Ron paused in the way a storyteller sets up the climax, “even going after humans, mostly toddlers, from time to time. East Coast and Southern California. It’s happening with mountain lions too, getting cyclists or joggers. But yeah, there is more confrontation now. It’s just gonna to get worse in urban areas, I’m afraid.”

“Sad,” I tried not to show the fear in my voice. I looked from the kitchen to the living room were the coyote yet lay, curled in front of the stove despite the lack of fire inside.

“Now this is where it gets really interesting. Genetic tests have shown that coyotes and wolves are interbreeding more now than ever before. And in Oklahoma and Texas, it’s really crazy. Coyotes and domestic dogs are interbreeding too. That really changes things as coyotes become fertile only once per year, but domestic dogs can breed all year round. Their offspring are less afraid of humans, more aggressive and the populations are growing.”

“Amazing. All because of humans?”

“Yeah. We really screw things up, over and over again. But we never realize it until it’s too late. But those coyotes, you don’t have worry about them going extinct. They adapt quickly. Did ya know ‘Coyote’ means ‘the trickster’ in Spanish? They used to be diurnal predators, but due to the human pressure, they changed to be mostly nocturnal?”

“No, I thought they were always nocturnal!”

“Nah, that’s relatively recent. Amazing, isn’t it!?”

I didn’t respond, but noticed the coyote was now stretched out. Was he listening?

“So, what’s got you so interested in coyotes?”

I hesitated, not certain what to share, “Well, I–, um, you know, nearly every night I hear the coyotes calling not far from the cabin. Sometimes up in the pastures.”

“Yeah, that’s really neat. I never tire of hearing them either.” Again, Ron’s passion for the living, non-human world came through in the excitement of his every word.

“Well, last night, I swear they were right off the porch. I mean, right there in front of me. I could hear everything, even the growling and chewing. It was amazing.”

“Oh man! I’ve heard that too, usually from within a tent but sometimes on the back porch here in Boise. So, did you get a good look at ’em? What’d they catch?”

“No, it was too dark, the sky clouded over and the moon in its new phase. But,” I hesitated again, “but one of the coyotes, he was injured. It looks like he was attacked.”

“What? What happened?”

“Well, he came up on the porch after the rest left. He’s missing an ear, has a big hole in his side, and one of his paws is pretty messed up.”

“He’s on your porch! Oh man!,” now Ron was really excited, “That’s really strange. Usually, they’d just run off, no matter how bad the injury. They sure don’t like being touched by humans.”

“So, you’ll think he’ll recover?”

“Well, I am just surprised he didn’t run off. That scares me more than anything. Might be diseased or something. It’s just not normal for a coyote to hang out with humans. Hell, I’ve seen a coyote with a leg blown off run for miles, heal and come back the next year. One of the fattest, well-furred coyotes I ever saw was flop’n a hind leg halfway up the thigh while hunting prairie dogs in Wind Cave National Park,” he paused for emphases, “at thirty degrees! He was still mov’n so fast, I couldn’t have caught him on a gravel road with my mountain bike.”

“Incredible!”

“But, if he doesn’t recover, and don’t run off, you gotta put him down Kai. Nothing else to do.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“Kaister. Either he’s gonna get up and run, starve, or get eaten by something bigger. You can shoot ‘im, make it clean and quick, and then take the carcass a few miles away and let him be food for another scavenger.”

“I know. I know. That’s how it works. You know I am not opposed to that, even though I am a vegetarian,” I paused, smiling even though Ron could not see me, “But this time, I just can’t.”

“Well, you can’t keep him. He was not brought up by humans. Even then they turn mean, eventually. Like lion and bear cubs too. It’s just too dangerous.”

“I know. It takes generations, but this one,” I leaned around the corner again and the coyote was gone, “Oh shit! He’s gone! I gotta go. Sorry. I’ll call you later.”

“Wha-?” I hung up and rounded the corner. He was no where to be seen. I ran to the door and pressed it open, stepping quickly onto the porch again.

“You gonna shoot me now? Put me out of my misery?”

He was there, where I had found him last night, sitting up, the bandaged leg protruding from beneath his torso. He was beautiful, even in his injured state. Stunning to look at in the sun.

“No. No. Of course not. I just wanted– I wanted to know more. Ron is a lifelong conservationist, an expert in his field. He, more than anyone I know, gets what’s going on out there,” I waved my outstretched arm, gesturing to the pasture, the forest, and mountains.

“Out there?” the coyote asked, no intent to hide his sarcasm, “You mean over there, between those trees,” he pointed with his snout and nose, “Or there, in that valley. Or the next ridge over?”

I looked to each of the places he had noted.

“What about here, aquí, between you and me, on this porch, inside su casa. And your farms, your cities, your landfills? Does he get what’s happening there?”

“Yes, he does. He understands, more than anyone I know.”

“You’ve known him for a long time, have you?”

“Since I was just three years old. He is like a second father to me.”

“Bueno. We need more like him. But don’t worry about me any more. You did good last night,” looking down at his paw and to his side, at the bandage holding the gauze in place over the hole in his side, “Lo hiciste bien.”

“I need to change those bandages.”

“Su amigo Ron, he’s right, you know, I will starve, eventually, if I don’t heal. The pack, it’s not like you humans, we can’t care for those who can’t pull their own. It’s not that we wouldn’t, we just can’t. It’s not what we do. Nunca tenemos. Nunca lo hará.”

“Did they do this to you?” pointing to his injuries.

“Yes, the pack leader. He did this, the others formed a circle so I could not escape.”

I was shaken, images in my mind too terrible to hold on to “But why?”

“Because of what I believe I must do.”

I waited, saying nothing.

“Because I came to you. Because of where we are going, together.”

“Are they angry you are speaking to me?”

“It’s not about speaking. For thousands of years we spoke to humans, until the new people arrived,” he paused, considering what to say next, “It’s about the befriending your people. Your species has taken nearly everything we are, all that we were and forced us to change.” He looked up at me, “No one likes to change.”

I nodded, adding, “Like Ron said, you are mating with domestic dogs, spreading into urban areas and eating our pets.”

“Pets!” he laughed, “The concept has always made me laugh.” And then with a very serious tone, “Don’t get any ideas human, I am not your pet. You will not be feeding me food from your table!?” His voice trailed into a snarl and I sensed his pride. “No, you will kill me, in the end, and carry my body to a higher place for the bear and the birds and the worms to consume.”

I started to respond, but he bared his teeth and snarled again.

I went back inside to gather the medical kit, tape, and gauze. The coyote was patient and showed no pain when I reopened, cleaned again, and repacked the area where his rib had been exposed. It was healing already, the blood coagulating, a light brown and pink crust forming with a little fluid in the center. But the fluid was clear, not white, and the pink was not spreading. No infection, from what I could tell.

What was left of his ear was also drying, strands of fur helping to form a scab more quickly than if it were clean. Very little liquid yet oozed from the wound.

The coyote stood, shook his coat free of the pine needles which had stuck to his fur, and thanked me. Then he continued, “There is a divide among our kind, a kind of decision being made. We are not all in agreement, some of us willing to risk our lives to take a risk.”

“You risked your life by coming to me?”

“No. That is the easy part. What lies ahead, that is the risk we will both take, together.”

This story continues with Part III

Copyright © Kai Staats 2013