There’s A Coyote In My Neighborhood
Earlier this year, a coyote bit three kids in a park. In Dallas, coyotes in the city are common. These skinny, dog-like carnivores aren’t spooked by city lights or speeding cars. Most are scared of humans. But some are not.
I know because there is a coyote in my neighborhood.
I saw it through the tall, dry brush, scowling — head down, black eyes eclipsing me. My heart froze. It saw me first, I thought. Its scruffy, brown-gray fur bled into the weary woods, making it nearly invisible.
I was in my “spot” of the neighborhood. Here, the colors of the sky are somehow brighter, meaner.
A wispy pink sunset had turned ultraviolet when suddenly, something large rustled the early night. The coyote watched me leap from the untamed wilderness surrounding my neighborhood, holding my barking dog, Lexi.
“If a wolf and a [woman] encounter one another, the [woman] will be struck dumb if the wolf sees her first.”
When I saw the coyote, peeking through the tangled branches, I wasn’t literally “struck dumb.” But, for a moment, I couldn’t think.
It is an old superstition. I read it first in Plato’s Republic. But I looked it up and I think it came from Roman philosopher Pliny the Elder. The idea has survived centuries because there is a timeless lesson —
Predators are always watching.
It’s like trying to find the camouflaged feline in one of those memes. If it takes you longer than eight seconds, you are in trouble.
Only 10 years ago, my neighborhood was a dense wild. I’ve seen —
rabbits running from swinging headlights,
armadillos crossing the road,
possums wobbling along my fence,
fat raccoons sitting in my tree,
wild, hairy hogs chewing on berries,
skunks eating my garbage and now — coyotes watching me from the woods.
It is hard to imagine — if you visited my neighborhood — that you’d have to watch for coyotes. But there are still pockets of untamed land. Wilderness is just a few steps away from the concrete sidewalk.
I’ve always watched for predators. After all, I am a woman, walking alone at dusk. Every few seconds, I’m glancing over my shoulder. My heart races when cars pass, but slow down.
But I still go walking, alone. Just like I still watch the sky in “my spot.”
I try to remember that when I’m watching the sunset, a predator is watching me. But when the sky looks like a summer dream, I almost forget.
Maybe I’ve been “struck dumb” after all.
