This fall, three coyotes claimed a meadow near the Stanford West housing complex as their preferred hunting ground. Their presence caused quite an uproar on social media. Some people panicked and called the police. Others preached the woes of over-development. Me, I slithered along the trail, hopeful. This is my Ode to the American Song Dog.
Ears rotate skyward
like the giant radio antennae in the Stanford hills
near your den
Listening for footfalls…
a ground squirrel,
a mouse,
rib cage expands
contracts
still
Rubber-soles smack the earth, podcasts pound in their ears—athletic warriors battle their need for swifter, higher, stronger, outperform, financial gain, cure cancer, buy cryptocurrency. Solve the mystery!
Now! Now! Now!
They gallop past you.
Beautiful coyote.
Young, female, quiet in the golden California prairie grass.
You stand
Command
This meadow your stage
Backlit by the mid-morning sun
Thick fur coat sparkles
Diamonds on tan and gray
Undercoat nearly full and lush, preparation for frost.
I have never heard you enter the meadow, though surely you’ve crossed before me dozens of times.
The real mystery stands 15 meters before me.
Four paws. Ears cocked to the sides. Whiskers. Long bushy tail. a black tip on the end, pointed down to the earth.
I step closer, my sneakers sending vibrations through the soil.
You stop pawing at the burrow, giving the ground squirrel a chance to hide deeper in some tunnel, and
You observe. Me.
In that space, the silence between us, I can feel your attention shift.
When you trot closer, flanking the scraggly Madrones, your gaze never leaves mine.
I notice for the first time, that your eyes are sky blue.
My heart thumps louder, I want you to come closer and closer,
but not that close.
For you are always hungry, and inside that gentle jaw are teeth.
Canines, sharp.
You approach. Reading my scent.
My heart pounds, my cheeks flushed with blood, I stay focused on you,
breathing, breathing,
silently telling myself
to breathe,
wordlessly whispering
hello, you.
What separates us humans from our wild companions?
Nose to the earth, you slink around the Madrones. You cross the wood-chipped trail, then hop through the split-rail fence, stopping at the giant eucalyptus. Again you blend in, tan and charcoal and cream. Your ears point skyward. Your blue eyes still hold mine.
I can feel your hunger.
Your desire
To be allowed to hunt in peace.
For you there is no Safeway or Starbucks.
Of course.
I break eye contact
and turn towards the wood-chipped trail.
Take one step, then two,
then I glance towards the trees,
hoping to glimpse your fur,
the tip of your tail.
I don’t see you.
But I know you are near.
Perhaps in the rocky creek bed.
Perhaps hunting a mouse.
And so I go.
Information (and more photos!) about coyotes on the Stanford campus available here: https://news.stanford.edu/report/2022/11/07/coyotes-on-campus/