Coyotes

[Clare]

Coyotes were the mesopredator across much of North America, kept in place by the presence of larger predators. With the larger competitors eliminated or reduced, coyotes moved to fill the niche.
Now, the issue of coyotes on fringes of cities is increasingly disturbing for citizens and their pets.

Coyote America: A Natural and Supernatural History by Dan Flores

[Clare]

A highly scary story is in the newsletter from Ellen Riggs. She's described seeing coyotes a few time in the park while walking her dogs. Anyone wishing to keep up with Ellen would, no doubt, be welcome to subscribe her e-newsletter.

"Mabel, who is extra precious to me now that she is an only dog, was attacked by a coyote.

It happened in a local suburban park I jokingly nicknamed “Coyote Park” about fourteen years ago. Back then, the coyotes kept their distance, and we could coexist. Unfortunately, they now have access to more food and are becoming increasingly bold. The park sees far more use and staff can’t keep up with the garbage. Don’t get me started on the people who deliberately leave out trash buffets for wildlife.

On weekdays, if I’m in the city, Mabel and I go there to meet my pal and his doodle, Sprocket. On weekends, we’re on our own.

It was overcast that Saturday, and there were fewer people than usual in the park. We were on the main path, not far from the rink and splash pad where park staff had just arrived.

I was keeping my eye on a visibly inebriated young fellow who had walked behind a hill I needed to pass. My attention was on where he might reappear, not on what might be behind us.

After we left the rink, I heard a thundering sound. Mabel’s leash was ripped from my hand, and she went rolling.

I honestly had no idea what had happened until the coyote circled me and crouched at the bottom of the hill.

That’s when I started screaming. I raised my hands and yelled, just as the city website tells you to do.

The coyote pulled a Cori Hogan with the orange middle fingers.

It wasn’t going anywhere.

Mabel came straight back to me and stood facing the coyote. She was utterly silent through the entire ordeal.

The standoff ended when the young man I had noticed earlier emerged from behind the hill and became our unlikely hero. He got between us and advanced on the coyote with his arms raised. His steps weren’t entirely steady, but his courage was.

The coyote finally retreated.

I asked the young man to walk us out of the park. Along the way, he regaled me with stories from a difficult life. I hope he left knowing he had done a kind thing for two frightened ladies that day.

On the way home, we ran into Mabel’s favorite canine boyfriend, Sandy the husky, who calmed her right down. Then we visited one of her favorite humans, our neighbour Ruth, who was my mother’s best friend for sixty years.

By the time we settled in my office, I was feeling okay. Determined to keep on writing.

That’s when Mabel started licking her leg.

Although she had appeared unscathed at first, she had, in fact, been bitten. My vet was away but advised me on coyote protocol. We had to call around to find a clinic that could provide wound care, antibiotics, a painkiller and a precautionary rabies booster on a holiday weekend.

Mabel was the first dog in my vet’s thirty-year practice to be attacked by a coyote. She is nearly forty pounds and was probably about the same size as this particular varmint.

Animal Services told me the attack was likely territorial. A neighbourhood social media group confirmed that a protective mother coyote has repeatedly confronted groups of very large dogs, including two 180-pound mastiffs.

Mabel used to be easily spooked, but I must say, she handled this better than I did. Now I see threats on every corner, especially since coyotes roam our streets year-round. I had felt artificially safe with a medium-sized dog and, until recently, two of them.

But we march on. When Mabel’s leg healed, we retreated from suburban wildlife to the cottage, where a different set of challenges awaited us."