So at precisely 7:45 this morning an elite squad of the loudest coyotes started yipping and howling at a range of what seemed about 15 feet from the lair. Ghost, already sick of begging Uncle Joel to commence the morning walky already, went completely batshit with Beauty and Little Bear right behind. I opened the door and watched as the trio blasted down the ridge, over the meadow, across the road, over the other meadow, and into the maze of gullies and boulders between there and the big ridgeline in less time than it took to type this.
In the old days, when I wasn't really responsible for their safety, I'd have watched them go and placed internal bets as to when or whether they'd return. But I'm far too timid for that now; I grabbed my jacket, gloves and rifle and headed off in that direction.
On the way I passed W's lair, with Bruno barking on the porch. I invited him to come along, but didn't insist. Bruno's a classic pit bull, with a mouth full of horror-show teeth and a face that appears to be composed entirely of jaw muscles. But he's also a great coward - sorry, W - and I correctly didn't expect him to offer to come. Redgirl, of course, was inside Waiting For Vizinni.
At the foot of the driveway I paused and called, in the wan hope that they hadn't gone farther than I saw them go. No answer. Over a little rise and across a gully, a little off our beaten path, there's a meadow near the approach to the big ridge. It was in line with the path I saw them take, and a voice would carry there. I hiked to the middle of the meadow, stood there and called. No answer.
Now I had to choose: They either hadn't come this far - and I could find no tracks - in which case this was a fool's errand, or they'd done something truly insane and really taken off after the coyote pack. Beauty and Ghost can fight, but they're only two. I don't know if Little Bear would fight or roll over and try to surrender, which wouldn't go well for him. He's as big as the other two combined, and one day he'll be formidable. But it isn't this day. He's less than a year old still, and although he play-fights very competently he's used to surrendering to his elders when the going gets serious. If Ghost led him into battle, he made a mistake.
I thought about this while hiking on toward the ridge, in the direction of the coyotes. Insanity was the least likely alternative, but the safest assumption in terms of defending the dogs.
I was now a good distance from the property, definitely farther than the coyotes had been when they started this. I didn't expect to encounter any, because I never do. I rarely see coyotes when out walking; they damned well see me and keep a respectful distance. But I could still hear them, seemingly about as far away as they had originally been. I kept heading for the ridge, and came upon a set of fresh tracks.
The ground was still covered with frost, shining in a billion tiny crystals. But the dirt wasn't frozen, since it's been a while since it snowed and there wasn't enough moisture for that. The tracks were too torn up to tell if I was following a dog or a coyote, but they had disturbed the frost; definitely fresh. For the first time in a long time, my rifle seemed a personal comfort. Just because coyotes usually aren't aggressive doesn't mean they can't be, and it was likely that they were all around me now. I snicked off the safety and checked the chamber. I hadn't brought extra magazines, but if I couldn't get it done in thirty rounds I deserved to be food.
Now I was at the base of the ridge. Most of this face was sheer, but off to the right I knew there was a much easier slope. I wanted to get high enough that I could see and call for a good distance. I didn't have any further prayer of finding the dogs, but hopefully once I was there the dogs would find me.
By now the coyotes had shut up. I climbed to a plateau, stopped, caught my breath, and called. I was now much farther from home than I'd intended, probably farther than the dogs had come. I wished I'd planned better and grabbed a canteen. This was looking more and more like a fool's errand, and I began to make plans to return, get the Jeep, and cruise the wash trolling for the dogs. They always find the Jeep.
I waited. Then I heard the panting sound of a rapidly-approaching dog-like creature. Almost certainly one of mine. Almost; I shouldered the rifle.
Beauty cleared the brush first, from the direction I'd come. She was panting hard; I was right the first time, I'd overshot them by quite a ways and the little bastards had let me. I waited a few more moments and Ghost appeared, followed closely by Little Bear.
What do you do in a case like this? I always want to give them a good swift kick, but need to reward them for returning. So I fawned on them and told them what good dogs they were, and we headed slowly home.
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