I woke up one morning not long ago to rapid-fire gun shots every 7 minutes. Gun fire is not abnormal here, but the regularity of the shots so early in the morning is. I knew immediately what was happening, because no one sights in a rifle at 7 AM.
Someone was calling in my pack. All morning; tack, tack, tack. Silence. Tack, tack, tack. Silence. Tack, tack, tack…
A bit later, I took my dog Willow out as I do every morning, and noticed the silence after all the gunfire ceased. The birds were as stunned as I was. The night before, the coyotes were on my doorstep. I could hear them outside laughing at each other. They can tell some real knee-slappers! But that morning I was shaken that my pack was being killed as I listened. It took me all day to pull their rattling bones from my ears. I’ve never been able to let those things go easily. It’s hard to digest with breakfast, if I’m honest.
Of course, the people who do this think they’re doing something good. And to be clear, I’m not against hunting in any way. Nor am I against trapping. I’m against mindless killing. These people believe they’re making room for deer hunting, or they do it as a favor to farmers, or for some extra money. The rationale being used is that coyotes are eating deer and therefore in competition with hunters, so they should be killed. After all, we didn’t have coyotes slinking around when I was a kid. But we also didn’t have bears (we do now) or birds of prey (we do now). I’ve always welcomed back these parts of the wild and bowed my head to receive the blessing. When predators return, it means we’re doing something right because there is enough food for them to survive. By contrast, I believe the state sponsored open-season on coyotes creates tremendous imbalance in the wild.
It bothers me that when someone sees a coyote trotting across the road or rushing into the woods, they aren’t thankful for the encounter and are instead filled with anger. “There’s another damn coyote. Those things are everywhere!” I respond, “Yes! Of course we have coyotes. They’re prolific because we have been profoundly out of balance. They eat mice, rabbits, groundhogs, opossums and larger animals as well.” In the case of farmers, to be fair, the fear is that coyotes will attack and eat sheep, goats and chickens. This is based in truth. I’ve seen their handiwork, and it does happen. If I were defending my own flock from a pack of coyotes, I would pull no punches, either. But there are more ways to deal with predators than to create constant ecological imbalance. Truthfully all the anger and hatred and shifting of belt buckles is about more than the presence of varmints. Coyote hunters, I’m sure, would point out that they’re doing everyone a favor. The situation points to a few different currents of thought as I mentioned before and a community need to problem solve. But it’s shrouded in the adolescent posturing that doesn’t recognize the pattern behind why the coyotes are here.
The imbalance being created by these actions goes beyond the health of an ecosystem. It also illuminates the caviler attitude towards creating solutions to injustice that some people align with. As if being free of legislation means you are free to act with impunity. It’s the mindset of doing whatever you want because no one is watching you. You have freedom to be cruel or mindless. Pointing this out is not meant to vilify those who hunt coyotes. It’s not entirely the fault of these individuals. I believe the motivation behind these actions is linked to a societal disease. We live in a system built by people who don’t see their reflection in the ghosts of dead coyotes.
As the bones of community are nibbled away, we are left with people who righteously pick off coyotes thinking that it either doesn’t matter or that it’s the right action to take in general. The thing that bothers me is that it’s become culturally acceptable to direct general hatred toward coyotes as an entire species because their very nature. Fear and control pumps through the heart of the wholesale war against anything.
Coyotes, in some Native American mythologies, are tricksters. It’s easy to see why. They sit up all night laughing and no self respecting member of society would stay up past 10, of course. Coyotes will kill 7 sheep and eat one. “Why? Why would they do that?”, we wonder. Who would want them around?
When we’re looking through a mythological lense, it’s easier to see why they have been identified as tricksters. Coyotes show us reality when we think, “Oh yes, my plans are laid out perfectly. It’s going to be smooth sailin’ baby, from here on out…” and we sit with a smile admiring the picture perfect picnic we’ve created. Then, coyotes come to town. Mothers usher children back home, safe inside, and swiftly shut the door. “You can’t mix with that sort.” they warn as they swat little hands away from the windows.
Coyotes look at your perfectly set picnic table and say, “Oh, thank you for laying this out so nicely!” Then they proceed to lick the spoons and shred the tablecloth while everyone watches through squinted eyes and crossed arms. Collective whispers rise up, “Why are they eating the cucumber sandwiches and pissing in the lemonade? They left the pork roast.”
Tricksters.
For a healthy system to stay healthy, it needs coyotes in the mix. It needs the taboo and it needs rule breakers. It needs someone to take a piss in our collective lemonade. No, not someone else’s lemonade. Not the lemonade of that neighbor who won’t rake the leaves. Yours. Mine. Our own lemonade made with lemons from our own beautiful orchard that is perfectly pruned and Instagram worthy. Welcome to life.
Uncertainty is part of the process of living. It can teach us the skills we need to witness the coyotes and continue plans for another picnic next week, all while not shooting the messengers. Yes, the danger associated with uncertainty is real. You never know if you will get the pack that eats the roast or keeps diving through town and that is tough for picnic planners. But tricksters function as the release valve we need in order to remember who we actually are. A healthy community allows room for the uncontrollable. It allows room for coyotes. When they roll into town, it is a gift. It teaches us to release our white-knuckled grip on the perfect picnic we’ve laid out for ourselves. They will help us remember that we’re part of something larger. The Wild is greater than our human understanding.
I heard two coyotes laughing again last night as I lay in bed. I smiled. We can’t stop them, they’re here to stay.
I just found you and thank my lucky stars! Your words have comforted me in an uncomfortable world.
Thank you!
Martin
I love the idea of coming to terms with the tricksters in the system.
Your post here reminds me of season 1 of Threshold: https://www.thresholdpodcast.org/season01. Bison aren't typically tricksters, but the prospect of their return to the ecosystem at large creates problems (real and imagined) for the ranchers in their habitat. I wonder how we turn these into community problems rather than individual landowner problems?