Laughing Coyotes...

"Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism…and to the

‘good life,’ whatever it is and wherever it happens.”

- Hunter Thompson: The Proud Highway:

Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman

I live on Laughing Coyote Way in Oro Valley, Arizona.

When I tell people this, they usually chuckle.  It occasionally happens when I’m on the phone with someone who needs to get my mailing address.  I have, by now, taken to warning them that they will at least smile, if not suppress a giggle or two.

I am uncertain the origin of the name, but there is little doubt there are nights when coyotes begin singing in the desert/golf course area behind our home. 

When they sing, it is a sort of discordant harmony sounding a bit like a chorale of sopranos warbling a Gregorian chant in a minor key.  As each member runs out of air, they gasp and howl yet once again.  Occasionally one of them, apparently not attending to the conductor, ad-libs a “...yip, yip…” solo, only to be quickly overwhelmed, by the larger chorus.

My street, however, is NOT called “Howling Coyote Way” or “Singing Coyote Way,” but rather “Laughing Coyote Way.”

What is a laughing Coyote?  What makes them laugh?  Why does something catch their attention in a humorous way?  Is it for silly physical comedy, like purposely running into a Saguaro (pronounced ‘swa-ro’) Cactus or playing dead - feet straight in the air, tongue hanging out?

When they get tickled, do the corners of their mouths gently curl as their eyes sparkle with subtle anticipation of the impending humor?

Do they tell Coyote jokes to one another?  You know,

“Did you hear the one about the jack rabbit, desert rat and wild pig that headed to the creek to get a drink of water?”

 “None of them returned…I’m NOT lion!”

Chortle…chortle…yuck…yuck…

There is little doubt there is a lot of material available here in the Sonoran Desert…snakes, big horn sheep, lizards, birds, insects…I mean the wild life is almost immeasurable.  “Wild life…” That is in itself a completely different topic.  I mean, talk about your party animals…hmm, wild animal nightlife, that would be worth exploring sometime.

But back to the laughing coyotes…

The problem is that these animals are difficult to pin down.  It seems this activity happens well after dark when most of us two-legged creatures are tucked away in our dens and temperature controlled caves.  Some of us are up at night, but our vision and hearing is so comparatively poor, we long ago decided not to compete with nocturnal creatures hunting for food, entertainment and a good joke now and then.

I suppose, like a lot of other things in my universe, I will have to depend upon someone else’s expertise, for it seems the chances of my seeing a Coyote laugh is probably not going to happen.

I have to say, however, I envy that fellow or gal who had the privilege of seeing that event and had the sense to memorialize it “…on the street where I live.” 

Maybe I could conjure the spirits of George Bernard Shaw (Pygmalion) or Alan Lerner and Fredrick Lowe (musical My Fair Lady) for some catchy lyric/tune…OR simply accept that there are some things in the universe not everyone is privileged to know…

- ted

Who is the lucky one?

 But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular, 

A name that's peculiar, and more dignified, 

Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular, 

Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?  

- TS Eliot ‘The naming of Cats’

We call her Leah because she is lucky.

In the Old Testament, there were a couple of sisters…Leah and Rachel.  Jacob was a fellow who loved Rachel, so he made a deal with Laban, her father, for her hand.  

The deal? He would work seven years for Laban and in return get Rachel for his wife - now that is love! 

The day finally came and the marriage occurred, unfortunately for Jacob, when he awoke in the morning he found it was Leah by his side, NOT Rachel who he loved.  When confronting Laban, he was told that Leah was the older sister and needed a husband.  

Jacob ended up working another seven years for Rachel, but the point here is that Leah was lucky.  She was lucky to get a husband, lucky to have children, and by her luck, she became part of the matriarchy of the house of Israel.

I mentioned, "We call her Leah because she is lucky!"  This is because we have a Leah in our household too - that would be Leah the cat.  She is lucky because she found us, or rather we found her.  

Her mother was a female of questionable character and had a somewhat loose living arrangement with our next-door neighbors.  The mother was an outdoorser, a mouser with a generalized independent flair both in character and apparently her occasional choice in male cats, meaning in the words of Crosby, Nash, Stills and Young, “If you can’t be with the one you love…” well, you know the rest – okay, if you are under the age of 50 the line ends, “…love the one you’re with.” 

Leah was so tiny when we got her; she fit in the palm of my hand – so tiny that she could hide in or behind my shoes.  A calico, and as is often the case in kittens, her eyes were disproportionately large for her face and body.  This is almost 15 years ago by now.  

Three cats reside in our home, but there is only one who attends much to me.  That would be Leah.  Early in the mornings, she wakes me slipping into bed and climbing on board.  

There she sits until I roll over on to my back, dancing like one of those loggers who stay atop a spinning log in the water.  Once I have gotten to my back, she settles in with a gentle purr.

This, of course in her world, is simply foreplay for breakfast, you know – the tease.  She has a clock in her head that says, “Okay that’s enough.  Now that I have your loving attention – let’s eat!”  

Some people say a person has only so many heartbeats in their lifetime.  Leah seems to have a certain allotment of purring breaths before it’s time to woo me to get her breakfast. 

If I feed her and then head back to bed for a few moments – an infrequent event – she will return to my chest, lie down and purr some more, with a satisfied and relaxed posture that says, “Now isn’t this better on a full stomach?”

There is something primal and exceedingly satisfying about lying tummy-to-tummy, chest-to-chest, heart-to-heart and breath-to-breath in the darkened and early morning hours.  There is something comforting about lying there with a creature in whom there is no malice.  There is something energizing about sharing a moment without words that satisfies both creatures in ways they find individual comfort.

This morning was one of those times.  As we quietly lay tummy to tummy – me reading, she digesting and purring – we found a moment of contentment that these words fail to adequately express, and I was taken by the warmest and gentlest of thoughts that I was the ‘lucky one.’

- ted

Sometimes you just have to walk away...

“It’s almost never the decision itself,

but the difficult path getting there.”

- Anonymous

It’s hard to know how the day is going to start. Yet as long as we have breath, each morning begins as it does for every living creature on the planet. Sometimes those days are predictable, but mostly they are not. This day things went badly…and went badly quickly.

The lioness escaped the sudden events that swiftly unfolded…her cub did not. In the aftermath, she looked around, and following a whimpering sound located her young offspring. The cub was not dead, but had been trampled by a herd of antelope or water buffalo or some other migrating pack that had been frightened by something unknown.

She came nuzzling and nudging the cub to move, but its lower back was broken – it could not. She picked it up in her mouth and carried it for a while. Whether it was the weight or fatigue or a combination…she put the cub down and slowly walked on. For a short period, it dragged itself along by its two front legs trying to keep up with its mother. She walked slowly allowing it to keep a distance of about ten feet between them. Then she stopped and sat…the cub paused, staring intently at her from behind.

The photographer had captured this rare and astonishing moment - the camera filming from the side as the drama played itself out. A second camera found itself positioned in full frontal view of the mother lion, sitting erect and regal – the cub plainly visible several feet behind her.

The war between the mothering instinct and struggle for survival appeared to be in play. The lioness seemed to be thinking… calculating… considering her options…running through some nameless decision-makingha algorithm known only in her own mind. They say animals don’t make subtle facial expressions, but watching her as she sat for those moments was riveting – the battle between the instinct of motherhood and for survival…almost in prayer.

Then something appeared to click in her mind. Something ancient…something primal…something tragic…a realization, a decision that telegraphed itself through the unseen camera directly into my heart. Like the arrow released from Paris’ bow heading for Achilles’ heel, there was no turning back…the endgame clear.

She glanced over her shoulder and looked directly at her cub…the fruit of her womb…the flesh of her flesh…and then turned to look straight ahead. She blinked her eyes, took a deep breath – a sigh really – and walked away.

It was one of the more profoundly moving and unexpectedly touching things I have seen in my life. It was not what I had expected. It was not the pleasant “…isn’t that nice…” resolution to a potentially lethal situation. I did not smile at a satisfyingly haunting lyric like ‘The Gambler’ written by Don Schlitz; sung by the American artist Kenny Rogers:

“You got to know when to hold ‘em

Know when to fold ‘em

Know when to walk away

Know when to run…”

It was stark…real…life…death…decision…choice. All of that played out in a few astonishingly brief moments. In the most paradoxical of ways, the act was compassionately courageous. The mother had assessed the situation, tested the possibilities for survival, and made the most merciful decision for both she and her cub. The very rhythm of nature that brought the cub to life would now take it away…neither act either particularly willing or unwilling…simply a part of nature’s ‘what is.’

As human creatures in our culture, leaving our young would be unconscionable. As thinking social beings, we understand the future is not simply about our personal survival. We understand it is the transmission of conscious thought that builds the foundation, for our personal future, and that of our species. We understand we are, in fact, spiritual creatures housed in physical bodies…bodies, which in some cases not completely whole, hold the most wonderfully creative minds.

There are so many situations in life where we find ourselves unable to make decisions to move on from circumstances of hopelessness…the death of a loved one…the loss of a relationship…an abusive situation…the failure to succeed where time and energy have been spent.

The metaphor of choosing life, over the potential tragedy of two deaths, touched me deeply. Making conscious decisions, in spite of the difficulty in doing so, for a better life…a better future…all of that has played itself out in the theater of my mind since seeing that poignant video. Those few moments, calculated on the basis of the instinct for survival and choice for life, were profoundly touching.

“She blinked her eyes, took a deep breath – a sigh really – and walked away.”

Lesson learned…

– ted

Rats!

The problem with rats is they have no fear

of human beings…they would run the

place given half the chance…”

– Sir David Attenborough

When I opened the door, the little guy stayed put. I had to shake him out. He froze for a moment on the desert floor, took a quick glance at what he thought was a large predator preparing to make a meal of him, and scurried off, disappearing into the cactus and underbrush.

"Yeah," I said almost as an afterthought. "And don't come back!"

I smiled to myself, almost hoping he would survive, hopped back in the car and headed home.

How this started…

The leaves on the miniature grapefruit tree had begun to disappear. Actually, that had not been the beginning. The Agave plant lost a couple of its leaves, gnawed through and except for a few small pieces under a Yucca plant in the back yard, they disappeared. PACK RATS!!

When we first moved to the desert, there was a family of them living under one of the Yucca’s in our back yard. These pesky creatures will scavenge practically anything from plastic, old wood and plant material, to build their nests. They are unrelenting, and if an opening can be found, will get into the outer walls of your home to live.

We asked around and were told rat traps were the ticket. I have a long history of hating to kill things, but it seemed it was the best way to manage this destructive situation. Sparing the details, I sucked it up, and within a couple of weeks, the family was dispatched. All was well in our little back yard.

As a preventive measure, we trimmed the Yuccas so that there was no place to hide underneath their long and human-unfriendly leaves.

Back to the present…

When the Agave leaves began to disappear, we made the decision to set the traps again. For the uninitiated, rat traps are NOT mouse traps. They look like mouse traps on steroids. They are big, the springs very powerful, and like their ‘mousey counterparts’ have hair triggers.

Rats, on the other hand, are smart. The first go was cheese. Rats visiting our back yard do NOT like cheese, or at least our rats do not. Peanut butter, we were told…that’s the ticket. So peanut butter it was. There is little doubt rats love the stuff. They also apparently are able to ‘lick the platter clean’ without setting off the traps! That didn’t work!

If confession is good for the soul, in spite of their destructive nature, I was kind of glad we didn’t kill the little guys. Yeah, I know, Molly doesn’t get it either.

The grapefruit tree…

When the leaves began to disappear, we decided we needed a different approach. It wasn't just the leaves near the bottom, but whole ‘new growth' branches began to disappear. While there were more than sixty grapefruit ripening on the thing, it started to look like it was being given a haircut by some mysterious cosmic barber.

Since we had been outsmarted by the rat pack, we decided to get one of those 'catch and release' cages. For those reading this that hate these little creatures, I completely get it. I don't like them either. They seem to have only two missions in life: procreate and destroy property to build their nests. In both cases they are prolific. Unfortunately there don't appear to be enough carnivores in the desert to keep their populations down, so getting rid of them by whatever means is an absolute necessity. 

An aside: After talking to desert plant experts, destruction of the upper part of our little grapefruit tree was probably the work of bighorn sheep. A couple of years ago, they were reintroduced into the Catalina Mountains near our home. There have been recent sightings of them in our part of town. We found some hoof prints on the outside of our five-foot high wall. Apparently, that is not much of a barrier for a hungry jumping sheep.

At any rate, the trap was set - peanut butter placed on a small platform in the front of the cage. I put it in the backyard on a chilly desert night and retreated to the house wondering whether these little beasts would get the peanut butter and defeat the trap.

Success…

In the morning, there was a pretty good-sized rat in the cage wandering back and forth looking for an escape. Not so my safely held captive. I realize these guys are exceedingly destructive, and I appreciate that if you get near them (as in the confines of a cage) they will gnaw on any digit that gets close - think George Orwell’s 1984. In spite of all of this, he was kind of cute.

He and I were going for a drive into the desert…a drive of no return for one of us. I asked Molly if she wanted to come. The answer was an abrupt "No!" She did, however, put newspaper on the floor of the front seat of the car, in case the little fellow had an accident during our trip.

After driving several miles to a state park, we parted company as earlier described. It was going to be up to him to find a way to survive in his new environs. There was not a house in sight!

Possibly the bigger issue is those bighorn sheep. I’m not certain how we are going to deal with them.

I wonder if they like peanut butter?

- ted