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