I arrived that Friday evening to check on my herd of horses and ride Mashkourah.  Crossing the grid road onto a stubble field, my horse snorted and stopped.  Her nostrils sniffed the air.  She backed up, wanting to change direction.  Stroking her neck, I talked to her while scanning the bush line in an effort to see what she did.  She settled for a couple moments, her eyes fixated on the distance.

I urged her to proceed forward, but Mash hesitated.  Finally complying, she took a few nervous steps forward on alert.  Trust an animal’s instincts.  An animal is more intune with their senses than many of us boasting to be at the top of the natural food chain.  Deciding on taking a different direction, she relaxed.

Mashkourah & Me Fall 2011

Upon returning from the ride, I led Mash into the corral near the 20 acre sub-division of pasture where one den of coyotes lurks in the density of the woods.  Zippy – my loyal dog in close proximity – began barking aggressively and charged towards the east clearing.

I squinted, muttering to myself, “What the hell is that?”  A group of something was quickly moving towards me.  “Deer?  No, deer don’t move like that.”

My eyes widened.  “Zippy!  Here!” I commanded.  Looking towards the house, my seven year old son, was playing in the front yard.  I yelled, “I need a gun!  NOW!  Coyotes!”

He screamed in that girlish fashion all young boys do.  The door to the house slammed shut.  I stood alone in the corral with Mashkourah and we watched the charge as she began a nervous dance at the end of her lead.  With three coyotes in the front of the charge towards Zippy, Mash and I – and four more behind them – I did the only thing I knew to do in that moment – I yelled obscenities loud and proud.

The coyotes slowed down, then stopped and watched me.  I believe I over-heard the leader of the group yip, “Damn it!  She’s back!  Retreat!”

“A gun!”  I yelled, “Now!  Somebody!”

Multitudes of coyotes began a chain of yipping and sharp barks in the distance.  I shook my head while angry adrenalin fumed from my skin.  Turning my mare loose in the safety of the corral already housing a couple adult horses, I hurried to the house.

“Where’s that piece of crap 30-30?” I yelled.

Casually, Curtis inquired, “Why?”

I quickly explained what had happened, impatiently adding, “I need a better gun.  What the hell are seven coyotes doing on the charge?  Why didn’t you let me know they’re getting more bold here?”

“I put that dead horse out there,” he said calmly

My head snapped back.  My eyes widened.  “Where?”

“Just a little ways out,” he replied.

I stared at him, emotion evident in my voice as I said, “That’s what you did with her?” I shook my head.  “And, if that’s what you were going to do with her, that’s not far enough out.  No wonder they came in on a charge.  They probably thought Zippy was going to get their meal.”  I felt my face twist and contort.  My eyebrow began twitching.  “I can’t believe this.”

“A person should be hunting them at that spot now,” he said.

My stare became a glare.  The image of staking out and looking at the carcass of one of my mares, while coyotes lurked in to feed from her body, made my stomach turn.

In that moment, I realized that the coyotes were giving me another important lesson.  A message.  My mind swirled, searching for a reason for this all.  A reason not just for the coyotes, but for the lessons about humanity.  The confirmation that the so called civilized world and the uncivilized world often had no distinct line drawn.   Civilization, with the thinking capacity and arrogance to claim that we two-legged beings were the superior, advanced society –  claiming a right to have domain over the natural world – were indeed the ones most uncivilized.

Dryly and meticulously, I said to Curtis, “I need a decent gun.  I’m going to get my firearm safety papers in order to go alone, but I need a decent gun.  I also need target practice.”

Perhaps it was the look in my eye.  Perhaps it was my tone.  Whatever it was, he agreed.

Coyotes and the Power of Seven

“The elders say a story has a spirit of its own.  They say that when you retell a story you release the power of its spirit.”  Coyote Medicine:  Lessons from Native American Healing by Lewis Mehl-Madrona, M.D., page 48.

I had debated at length with myself regarding my decision to hunt coyotes.  After all the losses, and weighing every spiritual dilemma regarding this, I had made my decision to hunt the organized packs, or at least try to.  I felt that the coyotes were baiting me, hunting me, challenging me to face many things I had also known and tried to ignore during my interactions with, and observations of, fellow humans.  With society.

I hadn’t had much luck encountering coyotes when I was armed and with hunters, yet the coyotes appeared when I was alone, unarmed and not necessarily seeking them.

I thought about the seven coyote charge.  Seven.  The number for wisdom, of the seeker and of truth – the coyote is the wise fool.  A jokester teaching hidden wisdom in his playfulness, his foolishness.  In the negative, seven also represents being faithless and critical.  It is also said that a true teacher incorporates humor.  Yet, I failed to see the humor in this situation, aside from laughing at myself for my multi-layered stupidity – out smarted by the packs of killers more than once.  But that is the way coyote medicine teaches:  The joke is on you.

The seven coyotes had charged at me in what is referred to as a reverse pyramid – the point of the coyotes came directly towards me.  It is said that this represents the superior becoming inferior.  Humans, believing themselves to be superior becoming inferior.  Nature, in all her brilliance and wonder, is superior not only in the physical sense but in the deeper, spiritual sense presenting answers and lessons.

Every animal comes to you with a message.  A teaching.

Coyotes In The City

Upon my return to the city, I put my three inch high heeled boots on and sweet perfume.  As I shopped for groceries at Sobeyes, my obsession with the image of the coyote charge began to leave my mind.  The city.  Safe.  Coyote free.  Smiling, I turned down the pancake mix aisle and stopped in my tracks.

“You –“  I muttered between clenched teeth, shaking my fist at the pancake mix as an innocent civilian hurried past me with his shopping cart with a concerned look on his face.  I smiled at him, then scowled, “It’s a sign, a sign I tell you!  Dang Wiley is even following me into the city now!”

Frickin' Coyote Pancake Mix

Coyotes were my calling, calling me.  Taunting me.  After my horses – horses represent power – and the coyotes were getting my attention for their multi-layered intentions through targeting my beautiful Arabians, threatening to take them from me…  To take my “power” away…

Upon returning to my house, I grabbed some markers and a large sheet of art paper.  Target practice time, baby.  I would soon capture my first shot on video with my new gun…

Pushing my chair back from my desk, I yelled, “Grab the gun and new spotlight!”

Hearing the intensity of both the coyotes and my dogs, so close to the house I would have swore they were on the front lawn, Curtis met me at the door and shoved the spotlight into my hands.

“Be quiet this time.  Don’t swear at them,” he warned.

“Give me that spotlight,” I said annoyed, “Just hurry.”

“And, let me lean on a fence post before you turn it on.  I’ll tell you when.”

We rushed out onto the front lawn in the dark night, quickly making the short way down the driveway to the pasture gate, which had once been the coyotes’ route.  Zena had taken care of that after she had arrived, laying on the bales and forcing the coyotes to re-route around her.  Now at the gate, a wisp of white in the shape of a canine moved about fifty feet in front of us.

“Hit the light!” Curtis yelled.

I did.  In the spotlight: three coyotes and my three dogs were pairing off.  Dawg and dog, staring each other down while they circled methodically – about to enter a turf war.  I stood stunned for a moment at the scene.  The coyotes appeared confused at the sudden blast of illumination.  I took a deep breath, realizing that by chance of circumstance, the coyotes had been out-smarted, ambushed, for the first time.

“See the light, you nasty-“ I began, only to panic, “Wait! Don’t shoot one of my dogs!  They’re all mixed up!”

Chancy, Zena and Zippy immediately ran towards me upon hearing my voice.

“Clear!  Shoot!” I ordered, “Shoot already!”

The blast from the gun caused a mini fire to present itself at the end of Curtis’s high powered rifle.  The larger coyote that we noticed in the dark upon our arrival buckled his hind end.  Each coyote scrambled in a different direction, as I focused the spotlight on another one.  The blast of the gun resounded, and that coyote disappeared into the ditch.  The third made it to the woods.  No predator eyes shone back.

“We got one for sure!”  A Gwen Stefani song emerged in my mind and I started to dance, and sing.  “A few times you’ve been around that track, so it’s not just gonna happen like that cause we ain’t no hollaback girls, no we ain’t no hollaback girls,” and I asked my dogs, bounding around me, “Are we?  No we’re not!  No we’re not! Goooood girls!  Such good girls.  Them coyotes were talking crap to you for a while, but we showed them, didn’t we?  Ye-es we did, snookums!  See, I backed you up, too.  You got my back and I got yours, ye-es I do!”

Zippy victoriously trotted into the battlefield, sniffing around for inspection.  Zena and Chancy laid on the road directly behind us in the dark.  They had our backs.

“I don’t know if I got one,” Curtis said.

“You got one.  I saw him buckle and look, Zippy is sniffing in the area his back legs went out from under him.  Probably smelling blood.”

The sound of a coyote yipping – like it was in pain – set my dogs off with a vicious vocal rebuttal and confirmed at least one had been hit.

“I’ll get the call and challenge them to see if they’ll come back again,”  I said, both excited yet ticked off about the whole ordeal.

“They won’t,” Curtis said.

“Maybe they’re cocky.  Or, educated now.  Shawn said if you shoot and miss, you’ve educated them.  Well, I think it’s about time they got some type of education,” my voice growled.  I proceeded to go on a tirade about how some people defended coyotes, not knowing what they were capable of when grossly over-populated.

I need target practice.  I wanted to hunt my way, alone with Zippy, and needed to prepare and practice in order to go it alone.

Out of curiosity, I checked some of the geographical stats on my projects directly relating to this blog and my videos.  The top three countries are listed below.  The number one country sent a warm smile to my face, as did the second top country showing interest in this topic.  The third top country came as a pleasant surprise and stimulated me to find out more about it.

Number 1 – The United States of America

Number 2 – Canada

Number 3 – Armenia

Welcome and thank you!

Other countries showing an interest in The Coyote Saga – in no particular order – are:  Thailand; South Africa; United Kingdom; France; Germany; Switzerland; Italy; Ireland; Turkey; Brazil; Argentina; Norway; Ukraine; Bulgaria; and Spain.

Thank you – all of you – and a warm welcome to all new readers.  A very special thank you also goes out to the loyal readers of this blog.

Side note: At times, my writing schedule in the spring and summer for this blog is sure to slow down due to various reasons – including other writing projects.  However, spontaneous coyote hunting, as well as scheduled hunts, will be taking place.  I plan to do my best to keep The Coyote Saga writing up-dates posted about once a week over the summer months…

We checked the snares we set on Frank’s property.  The bait was gone, but no coyote to be found.  Only tampered with snares that needed to be re-set.  Frank checked them a couple days later, only to find one of his dogs caught in one – my fear.

The domestic dogs – the “good cops” – were not the snaring goal.  The organized coyote packs were.  Organized criminals in the wilderness.  Thankfully, Frank’s dog was fine and unharmed.

A coyote hunter from the US, Randy, commented about the number of coyotes yipping in one of my videos, and expressed his thoughts from experience:  he suspected there were a lot of older, mature coyotes running organized packs because of the great numbers, with the goal to kill large game.  Working together in groups, not pairs.  He was right.

Research reports that coyotes hunt in pairs.  However, when coyote populations reach a high density, research also found coyotes will hunt in packs.  I thought about the three sets of eyes I had seen with my flash light in the dark, behind my house a few weeks ago, and thought about the three mature coyotes sent on a mission to eliminate my dogs.

With coyotes giving birth to more pups in spring, they become more territorial than at other times of the year.  With such a high population, which had been allowed to grow for a few years due to the lack of hunting for coyotes, the area was insanely congested.  And, the coyotes kept on breeding.

This coyote pup production, year after year, created a situation causing greater aggression for territorial rights from the coyotes.  They vocalized their false perception about owning the right to our land and protecting their area from my recent increase in dogs – a small pack who were giving the message, “not so fast, varmints.  This is ours, not yours”.

On our quarter of land alone – 150 acres – we knew there were at least three dens on it and a fourth den at the edge of our property.  Intense numbers.  I had also read in a wildlife book that a female coyote will give birth anywhere from one to twenty pups at a time.

I read an article linked from www.coyotehunter.net about the necessity to target and kill alpha coyotes, research done by a university study.  However, after thinking about this, I felt it may not be such a great idea to do so in a heavily coyote populated area where organized groups were working together.

First, I reasoned with myself that a person had to get to the alphas first – not an easy task with organized groups. Alpha coyotes will send out young scouts, watching in the back ground.  I had heard stories such as this from first hand accounts with coyote hunters regarding how an alpha coyote would sacrifice his own young and save himself when under attack – gun fire.  Alphas also gain years of experience at survival, and a high degree of intelligence.

Second, should a person successfully take out an alpha coyote first, chaos would surely result within an established organized group of coyotes.  More chaos – if that is possible – while re-establishing a new order within the pack with the leaders gone.

The best strategy, I felt, was to start shooting every coyote we saw, and then focus on the alphas on our quarter of land.  The coyotes, however, were devising their own plans and strategies of attack on us, leaving me to deal with the invasions they executed.

I reminded myself about a life strategy I had adopted for years:  Never under-estimate your opponent.  That works both ways.

Coyote Chaos In The Night – Again

Zena, Chancy, Zippy and Rexi charged down our driveway into the darkened night.  I heard hoof beats thundering on the ground while whinnies from each group of horses cut through the darkness.  Whinnies meant to locate each other.  Whinnies like sirens alerting all small herds to gather in numbers.  The sound of yearlings galloping and panicking  around their corral re-awakened an old fear within me.

Memories of herds locating each other, calling to band together in a huddle.  Memories of helplessness as I sat in the barn, listening, unable to do anything.  Memories of a dead foal and yearlings.  I panicked.

“Get the gun!” I yelled in desperation, rushing for the closet housing my 30-30.

“There’s nothing you can do about it.  It’s dark out,” Curtis said.

The tone of his voice, the choice of his words, infuriated me.  I glared at him, grasping my gun.  I clenched my teeth and grabbed my hunting fleece, my fingers searching for bullets in its pockets.

I despised those words – nothing you can do about it.  I had heard those words come from mouths in many instances in my life.  Nothing you can do about it, roll over, expose your belly and cry victim.  Never.  A mantra I was not, nor ever was, willing to submit to.  There is always something that can be done, no matter how small, to make a positive and progressive step towards change.

“Maybe you won’t do anything about ‘it’, but I will,” I hissed.  “This is my land.  These are my horses.  I have a right to protect my animals.”

“Wait!  Wait!” he yelled as I charged out of the house to my van, clutching the 30-30 while noting the front tire was almost flat.  “We don’t have a spotlight.  You won’t see them.” Rexi jumped in when I opened the door.

“I’m not waiting anymore,” I snarled, slamming the door and rolling down the window to stick my head out, “The horses are going crazy.  The coyotes are yipping.  The dogs are going nuts.” I put the headlights on high beam, “There – great spotlight!” I thrust the van into reverse.

I drove down the driveway, slowly, aware of the flattening front tire.  Zippy ran beside the van.  I angled the headlights to the little clearing beside the driveway, which was once the regular trek route for the coyotes until Zena perched on the bales around the clock and forced the coyotes to go around her.  For a brief moment, a set of eyes flashed back from the bush.

I continued down the driveway, making a U-turn at the end of it so that my headlights would shine entirely over the little area.  I sighed with relief, seeing my mares.  I began a head count.  They snorted and spooked when I shut the door.  My concern amplified at their behavior.  They continued to snort and blow as the dogs appeared in front of the headlights, making them flag their tails to gallop off.

“Girls!  Girlie-girls!  It’s me and the dogs!”

A few of my older mares stopped and looked back.  The rare sight of the whites of their eyes looked towards the direction of my voice.  I ran to the fence, in front of the headlights.

“Girls,” my loyal band returned to me, acting spooky, nervous and ready for flight.  I soothed them, running my hands over some of their bodies on the verge of breaking a sweat.

The young yearlings in the corral in the yard began screaming.  The mares replied, rushing off in the direction of the corrals.  The sound of stallions calling and racing in their paddocks amplified my panic.  The dogs barked and charged towards the bush.

My heart pounded.  My breath quickened.

I drove a little faster with the flat tire back to the house, not caring if I was about to ruin the rim.  Curtis stood there, looking at me.  I ignored him.

I rushed to the barn, turning on all the lights and spotted the quad.  Revving it up, I placed my 30-30 across my lap and pointed the headlights in the direction of the bush by the barn.  Sets of eyes again reflected back for a moment.  The horses stood, tails at half mast, looking in the direction of the bush.

“Get out of here!” I yelled at the predators, along with obscene threats and promises.

In my frenzy, I was unaware that Zippy was staying true to my side, as well as Rexi.  I knew Zena and Chancy were holding down the driveway area, barking like killers.  The comfort of my female canine team ready for combat at the driveway, where I assumed my black Zippy was also in the dark night, comforted me on one level.  I had excellent back up.  I wasn’t alone.  They had the west area covered.

I wasn’t the only one determined to make this farm on the edge of town tranquil, safe and serene – coyote free.

I could depend on my dogs for back up.

A Loyal Dog’s Lesson

I put the quad into motion, heading for the airstrip to get a view of the small 20 + acre section that coyote sirens had also come from.  Surrounding us.

“Where are you!  Show yourselves!” I yelled and swore at the vacant clearing.  Zippy appeared, surprising me, along with little Rexi.  Zippy lowered her head, fixated, as if she was stalking something.  I watched, still surprised that the dogs had chased behind my quad at the speed I had drove at in my rush to cover the east side of my yard while Zena and Chancy covered the west side.  Zippy was about to trot beneath the fence line and rush in.

“Zippy, come back!” I said, fearing she was seeing something I couldn’t and may get ambushed.  Obedient, she rushed to my side then looked towards the lit up area.

Zippy tipped her head, looking and listening.

The quad idled.  I sat, holding my 30-30 across my lap watching the dog no one wanted stance beside me, ready to charge in if she felt she had too.

She had clung to me after I brought her home a couple months earlier.  Never leaving more than a few feet from me.  She would even growl at Curtis when he approached, but never at my children.  She protected them too, including the babies, who she licked gently on their heads and allowed them to pull at her or climb over her or use her body to help them stand from a sitting position.

My loyalty and devotion for Zippy amplified in that moment.  The dog no one wanted.  The write off.

It had been years since I had such a devoted and strong relationship with a canine – a one woman dog.  Loyalty, like a well bred Arabian shows to her partner when the connection is strong.  Such loyalty, and a stand by you no matter what attitude is a rarity in humanity.  I swallowed the rising lump.

“Come, Zippy,” I said to her gently.  She looked up at me and wagged her tail, “Come on the quad.”  I slapped my hand to my thigh.

She danced, hesitated, wanting to jump up.  I reached down and lifted her up – and Rexi – while adjusting my gun laying across my legs.  Zippy sat in front of me.  I grabbed her and hugged her tightly.  A dog unable to offer human words, only actions that spoke louder.

I held her with one arm as I drove slowly to the yard and in front of the house.  Feeling defeated and helpless about the coyote situation, I took refuge in Zippy.

Zippy & Me, Rexi beside, after coyote chaos late one night...

“We’ll get them, Zippy,” I said, kissing her head, “They’ll slip up and when they do, we’ll be ready.”

A few nights later, my prediction presented itself.  The three coyotes were back.  My three dogs were ready.  And, so were we…

I hate generalizations.  I hate categories.  And yet, as a generalized rule when it came down to business, a good portion of my experiences with the United States of America was a feeling of acceptance, and welcome.

I had been in contact with a couple gentlemen from the US regarding coyote hunting.  Although they couldn’t travel up here for a visit and aid me personally due to hunting laws (much to their, and my, regret) I was learning a lot about coyotes from men who were experienced with first hand knowledge in the field.  Not men solely of theory or studies, but individuals armed with something much more valuable – actual doing, aka work experience. Valuable advice from experienced coyote population control hunters in the USA.

These men regularly hunted coyotes and were called in to deal with problem coyotes.  Coyotes that went after livestock.  Coyotes that broke the mold to many common and wide spread beliefs about what they will eat.  How they will act.  Many of these accepted beliefs were myths to people like myself who only wished that coyotes obeyed the categories and rules created by humans for them, including with the diet pre-established for them.

One gentleman by the name of Randy enlightened me about hunting this time of year and inspired me to think about the coyote’s aggressive attempt to bait out my dogs a couple weeks ago.

Coyotes are now in a more territorial and aggressive state – pups are being born.  My dogs were re-defining territories, causing an issue for the coyotes.

Randy suggested that I use a Ki-yi type of call – a sound similar to when you step on your dog’s tail.  I thought about the coyote challenge call on my electronic call, among the other coyote calls including the distressed coyote pup call.  As the coyotes were now more territorial this time of year due to producing more criminal minded pups, a coyote challenge and pup in distress would be appropriate, along with investing in a decoy dog.

I decided that the next time we went out coyote hunting, I would lure them out of the woods with coyote calls – particularly, a coyote challenge call.

Although I was raised to never pick a fight, but instead, finish one started with me, one that mattered, no matter how long that took – I was going to literally attempt to call out the offenders by picking a fight with them.  One by one if I had to.

Snaring

I had also changed my mind about snaring.  With my cousin, Ron, unable to come due to the rain, we called Frank.  Frank had learned how to snare from a professional a few years ago after he lost $10,000.00 in calves to coyotes.

Some of Frank’s calves had survived coyote attacks, their tails missing and their ears ripped up.  If the coyotes took too much of the calves tail, however, the poor calf died.  Frank recounted how one coyote would be biting on a calf’s tail while another had the poor calf by an ear, each pulling while the calf stood bracing itself.  Helpless.

Frank developed a hatred for coyotes, despising them like I do now, along with others in our area.

Recently, while out in public, I heard an elderly voice ask me, “Did you get any coyotes yet?”

I turned to address the lady.  A couple of inches down, I saw a sweet grandmotherly face framed with white hair on a little itty bitty body as her delicate hands clutched her purse.  I smiled at the stranger.

“Only one, so far, but I am working on it.  There’s way too many,” I replied.

She nodded and smiled sweetly, encouraging, “Well, I hope you get a whole bunch!”

I laughed, “So do I.”

Developing a deep rooted bitterness and hatred towards the predator, I try hard to reason with myself about the importance of keeping my feelings about coyotes balanced.  Yet, I am failing in that department.

Emotionally invested and living the coyote experience day after day, day by day, my ability to attain critical distance about the situation has not yet arrived.  If this coyote over-population problem persists for years, I am not sure I will ever be able to attain a writer’s critical distance for a more balanced view about coyotes.  Some things are just as they are.

Now, Frank met us on his quad by the curve a short distance from our home.  With a trailer in tow, we followed him as he escorted us into his pasture.

Frank leading us out to one of his quarters of pasture land.

“Watch the bumps and such.  We don’t want to lose the bait,” I reminded Curtis.

Curtis and I both looked back at the garbage can strapped onto our quad trailer transporting intestines and scraps from butchered animals.  We continued following as Frank drove around the little clusters of bushes on his beautiful raw land with small soft rolling hills.  Stopping, he inspected the outline of a bush.

“You want to find a cluster of willows with only a couple lanes leading into the center.  Coyotes don’t like to go through shrubs and sticks if there’s an open lane or two.  They’ll take the easiest route.  Ideally, we want a place where there are only maybe two spaces to get in.  You also don’t want water around it because you want them to be able to circle the willows.”  He looked at the tree line, saying, “This isn’t a good spot.”

Frank discussing ideal snaring spot.

Frank continued his escort, driving to another island of trees.  Looking around a tree he spotted, he shrugged.

“This spot might do, but it’s not ideal.  See, there’s some water, and we’ll need to break branches and set it up so that they only have one or two options to enter.  Then, we’ll set up the snares there.”

Frank and I talking about snaring strategies.

Frank retrieved two of his snares, telling us, “Get the bait.”

Curtis and I both grabbed a side of the garbage can and walked it to the brush.  Carefully, we maneuvered through the branches and dumped the coyote feast in the middle of the site.

“You want to set the snare up about a foot or so.”  I watched as Frank twisted the wire snare across two trees and made a noose.  He began to gather sticks and branches, and I joined him.

Learning how to set a snare.

“This spot might and might not work, but we can try it.  We should have more snares.”

“I’m going to be running to a hunting supply store soon to get more,” I offered.

Frank nodded.  Analyzing his set up, he said, “Well, it’s a wait and see now.  The buggers are around here like crazy.  It’s just a matter of whether we get any in this spot.  It may take a day or two.”

First coyote snaring set up completed.

“Thank you sooo much, Frank,” I said, “I appreciate this.  I want them so bad.”

“Me too,” Frank chuckled.

As we left, I said to Curtis, “Horses will be ideal for checking snares, too.”

“You’re reading my mind – that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Along with scabbards, we’ll have to get our saddle bags.”

I did a mental recap of my hunts so far, what I had done wrong, what seemed to be done right and the advice I was getting.  I thought about the reports coming in from members of our community as well.

Our babysitter, Leah, had told me about how she had seen a group of deer tightly bunched together while three coyotes circled them on her way to a neighboring town.  Kenny, his father’s farm next to ours, had brought over a photograph of a large canine like print he had taken.

“How big was it?” I asked.  “It looks pretty damn big.  Did you compare it to anything or measure it?”

“I didn’t measure it with a tape, but like you said, you can see it’s big.  It was as large as the entire palm of my hand.”

“Measure your hand,” I said.  “I started carrying a measuring tape with me, so I can measure any prints I see, including feces.”

Kenny began to chuckle, “Geez, you’re serious about this.”

I grinned, “No kidding.” I watched as he measured the palm of his hand, “Yep, 4 inches.  A few people called to tell me about these large prints the same time you did, Kenny.  Norma – and she generously borrowed me her camera tripod too so I can film and shoot – Sandra and your brother Garry.  You are all next to each other, reporting the same thing.”

We looked at my computer screen, analyzing how the toes and claws were placed and comparing it to the information about animal tracks.  I am as green as they come with tracking, but I still felt the paw imprint was most comparable to a wolf when considering the toe placement.

Kenny Reiter's Paw Print Picture mid March 2011

Kenny had taken this picture of the large print amongst coyote paw prints shortly after the deer had been chased into his father’s yard on the edge of town.

“Would you guys be opposed to baiting them on your back forty?”  Kenny asked.  “The coyotes are coming from your direction, and Dad’s cattle were frantic and riled up today.”

“Not at all.  I’ll need to check with the Conservation Officer or Hunting Guide first, to make sure.  I’ll also be picking up a trail camera tomorrow to place in that back forty.”

Curtis and Kenny chimed in that they were sure bait could be set out for coyotes.

“The kids are outside a lot more now.  That makes me nervous,” Kenny said.

“You and me both.”

Coyotes, Cousins & Chaos

Mama also called with a message that my cousin Ron wanted to come coyote hunting with me.  Poor Mama, she was always the decoy duck.  Through my haze of sickness, I felt the light brighten in me.  Little Ron was older than me, but I called him that anyway because he could have made a career as a jockey.  Yet, he could also shoot high caliber guns without getting knocked off his feet – unlike myself.

About 20 years ago, Ron, myself and another guy went out to the country side to shoot skeets.  I was misled.  Having been given the impression that I would also be shooting at skeets, I realized after an extended period of time my sole purpose was to release the skeets for the guys to shoot.

Extensive whining got me what I wanted – Ron handed me his gun.

“Fine.  I’ll pull and you shoot,” he said.  A little annoyed, yet with a smirk.

Satisfied, I took aim.  I fired.  My shoulder was thrown back.  I fell down onto the ground.  I left the gun in the dirt, setting my mouth and glaring at him.  I rose, screaming a war cry.  Ron ran, laughing harder.  It must have slipped his mind that I ran the 100, 200 and 400 meter races quite successfully.  His “ows” and “that hurts!” could be heard for miles around.

What I liked about Ron, is that he treated me like a tomboy and not a girlie girl.  Sure, he would make comments about me being a woosie girl or a little girlie to get my temper flaring, and I’d call him Rumplestillskin – then we’d fight like brother and sister.  He’d put me in a head lock.  I’d pull his hair, trip him and pin him.  Good times, good times.

I called Ron and arranged to go coyote hunting together.

“If you can’t make it, call me,” I ordered.  “I need to know because I have to hire a babysitter and if you’re not coming to hunt, I want to get out and snare.”

Cheers To A Week Of Hunting – With Buckley’s

I had changed my mind about snaring, although I still didn’t want to set snares on my property due to my dogs/pets and being so close to town.  There was always the risk of getting someone’s dog or pet.  And yet, I also doubted any dog or pet would wander into the coyote territory.  Dangerous grounds.

I wanted to get my first coyotes – so badly.  Every day that passed, I wanted to get out and hunt.  Every night my dogs barked all night long, I wanted to hunt.  This was not a passing fancy.  A hobby.  It was a desire and a mission.

The population of coyotes is so dense, I decided, with a little encouragement and reinforcement from what I read, trying to shoot coyotes alone was going to be an up-hill battle.  Spring was now here.  Coyote pups would be born.  More coyotes in our already over-populated area.  I wanted to get more aggressive, as I had decided weeks ago, and snaring had now become a part of my aggressive strategy.

The hills crawl, moving and singing with coyotes – including in my own pasture where there are four groups thriving on one quarter of land.  To the knowledgeable, hands on and experienced coyote hunters, that speaks volumes about our gross over-population.

As I wondered how I was going to learn to snare coyotes properly, Frank drove in the yard.  We asked his permission to place snares on one of his quarters of land further from town, and discovered that he was taught how to properly snare coyotes by a professional.

This week begins a multi-leveled strategic attack on my war against the killer coyotes – whether Buckley’s cough remedy is required in my hunting vest or not.  If so, I’ll raise two tablespoons of it to the heavens, say “Cheers” and request a successful hunt…

It was a calm evening.  No wind blasted and plowed over the landscape – finally.  I waited for Curtis to return from work, anxious to get out coyote hunting.

Since my first coyote hunting experience – when I received a little taste of the thrill of calling in a couple coyotes – I was hooked.  The more I went out, the more frustrated I became, the more humbling the experiences were, the more challenging it became – the more addicted I was to attempt to successfully eliminate the predators stalking my property.

Curtis and I agreed that, for the meantime, we should focus on our home quarter first and try to eliminate the coyotes taking refuge on our land.

The past Sunday, around 10:30 pm, from my office (on the far west side of our house) I heard Rexi growling and barking in our living room (east).  He rarely barked, let alone growled.  As I went to inspect, I heard the dogs going ballistic outside.  Rexi was looking out the east living room window.

I opened the door, stepping out to hear a coyote in very close proximity.  It was yelping, almost as if it were in distress.  It was dark, too dark to see where Zena, my ½ Great Pyranese dog, was – but I could hear that she was very close to me.  A wet nose brushed my hand before she barreled off to stance between me and the woods.

I yelled towards the shop for Curtis, but he was wearing his ear plugs as he welded.  I ran into the house, calling him on his cell phone.

“Grab your gun and get to the house!  There’s a coyote right behind the house!  It’s trying to bait out the dogs! Hurry!”

I hung up, rummaged through the porch drawer for a flashlight and ran back outside to the backyard.  I shone it on Zena, who was stancing on the lawn half way between the house and the bush line.

“Zena, don’t take the bait girl,” I yelled.

I shone the flashlight into the woods – a belt around our backyard.  A set of eyes glowed back from the bush, then another and yet a third as I swept the bush line with light.  Curtis jogged up, holding his gun while I threatened the coyotes with words that would make the devil blush.

“Get on the quad and drive onto the airstrip,” I said. “I bet there’s a bunch sitting and waiting there for my dogs, the rotten dirty ba—“

“That’s not going to help,” he replied. “If you wouldn’t be yelling at them-“

“What’s not going to help?  My swearing?  Okay, where’s the 30-30?  I’ll go.”

“No, I mean driving the quad onto the airstrip.  They’ll run and hide in the dark.”

I let out a deep breath, shaking my head and tightening my lips.  “Then don’t worry if I yell some death threats at them.”

I was sick with worry for my dogs – particularly Zena.  She was doing a great job redefining the boundaries in our yard, including eliminating the coyotes trek across our driveway.  Her presence made them go around – the long way.  She was working over-time.

I had also noticed that Zena limped from time to time, which concerned me.  I asked Curtis to take her to the Veternarian clinic for an over all check up, to check her dew claws and for a rabie vaccination.  I had also noticed that in the past couple of weeks, she was asking to be fed throughout the day – much more frequently.  I gratefully obliged her, adding a steak as an added bonus to her dog food.  Zena was healthy and I needed her to stay in prime condition.

The next morning, I rushed outside.  Chancy greeted me.  No Zena.  I walked around the house.  I called repeatedly for her.  Nothing.

I waited until noon.  I walked outside again.  Zena didn’t greet me.  I looked at her usual posts – by the bales by the driveway.  Her post between the mares and the bush line directly across from our house.  Her post by the barn.  Still, no Zena.  I called.  No response.  My heart sank.

Mid-afternoon arrived.  I grew desperate, calling for Zena.  My stomach turned.

“Curtis, Curtis.” I rushed up to him, “I think the coyotes finally got my Zena,” I said.  “Did you see her today?”

He looked worried, saying, “No.  Are you sure you didn’t see her this morning?”

I thought for a moment, shaking my head.  “No.  Not since last night.  They finally got my Zena.” I whimpered on the verge of tears.

I called for Zena again, jogging towards the shop. She revealed herself, calmly rising from the tree belt around our garden beside our backyard, trotting towards me and slowly wagging her tail.  I slumped my shoulders and bent my knees in relief.

“You’re posting by the garden now,” I said to her.  “You need to answer me.  I thought they got you last night – but you’re too smart to fall for their tricks, aren’t you?” I grinned at her, patting her sides before taking her head in my hands and scolding, “You better answer me next time.”

The coyotes returned the following night…

Coyote Serenading Strategy & Preparing The War Horses

Now, I watched as Curtis pulled up in front of the house.  With our babysitter already here, I picked up my pace looking for my calls.  Curtis opened the door to: “Let’s go!”

He grinned, saying, “We’ll only have about an hour and I need to eat something first.”

“Grab a sandwich.  Let’s go.”

I was successful at keeping my mouth shut as we walked.  I hurried, gaining a few paces ahead of him.  We ventured around the bush line around our house, looking for tracks.  Curtis spotted some, pointing to them with his gun.  I nodded.  We walked further and I pointed to the direction I wanted to go behind the shop and barn – in the 20 plus acres fenced off.

Quietly and quickly, we made our way.  I was about to sit when Curtis whispered, “Sky line-“  I put my finger to my lips, and drew my eyebrows together.  He snickered.  I motioned for him to shush as he pointed to walk a little further down the gentle slope.

We positioned ourselves lower on the small hill.  I waited a few minutes before starting our electronic caller, selecting a distressed jackrabbit.  One of our mistakes in the past may have been starting our prey calls too quickly after arriving.  I was also careful not to crank the volume on high, after watching “Coyote Tactics: Locating, Set-ups, Calling” with Don Laubach, Ryan Laubach and Merv Griswold.  [www.elkine.com]

Branches cracked in the bush as a flock of small birds flew up.  Curtis and I looked at each other, motioning it was probably a deer.  We waited in silence.  My skin goose bumped as an eery feeling blanketed over me.  I slowly scanned the bush line with my eyes, listening carefully.  It felt as if I was being watched.

I switched the call to a distressed cotton tail rabbit.  Waited.  It was growing dark, fast.  Curtis and I looked at each other, motioning to call it a night. The idea came to me to play the lone coyote howl.  Three separate groups of coyotes began a chain reaction of serenading back.  I switched the call to a coyote serenade, joining them.

Curtis nodded his head as I whispered, “I want them to think that another group of coyotes got the rabbits.  Then, maybe next time, when they hear the rabbit calls they’ll think that they need to get to us before another coyote does.  I don’t know if it will work, but it’s worth a try.”

Curtis agreed, adding, “And, we can get to a few more posts with the quad now.”

“Too noisy.  I thought we agreed on horses.  It’s legal, isn’t it – to hunt coyotes on horseback?”

“You can carry a gun, but it can’t be loaded.  Just like in a vehicle.”

“I’ll double check the rules, to make sure.  I wouldn’t carry a loaded gun on a horse anyway.  And, I wouldn’t shoot off of one, either, just in case.”

“Remember the rule in the mountains – never shoot over your horses head.”

“No kidding. Who’d do that?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Anyway, it’s time to get the riding horses tuned up,” I said.

Just like maintaining a vehicle of any kind, riding horses needed maintenance also – a couple refresher rides to work out any potential kinks, regular deworming, hooves trimmed, additional mineral and vitamins and a nice warm shower.  The best part about riding horses out in nature is that you are able to get very close to all kinds of wildlife.

For good measure, and to bring our young sons minds at ease, I grouped their Arabian riding mare with my two Arabian riding horses in a corral by the barn.  Trustee mounts.  Horses originally bred for their courage, sureness, intelligence and loyalty to their riders.  War horses.

Moose Medicine Teaching:

The deer were on the move, herding together.  I looked to the left and saw a small bunch of last year’s fawn crop sticking together, trying to re-unite with the mature deer in the field on our right.

“Something’s after them,” I said.  “Everything is on the move – coming from the south here and heading towards the north.”

Somewhat on my own with the coyote hunting learning process – although Curtis was an experienced hunter of prey animals, he too had never hunted predators before – I turned to nature for guidance, to teach me.  Nature and being close to animals, including wild animals, was my comfort zone.  It gave me a feeling of full acceptance.  A place to receive guidance with no judgments.  A place not to be feared.

When I had been in the mountains almost a decade ago, I hadn’t wanted to return to the “civilized” world.  Yet, had to.  My first night back in my bed, I tossed and turned before finally walking down the stairs with a blanket and pillow to my screened in veranda.  Laying down with the cool night air surrounding me, while listening to the chorus of frogs, I fell fast asleep.

Now, as we drove and turned onto the main grid towards our farm, a large, dark animal appeared out of the woods.  It was heading towards the gravel road, also from the south.  I used the zoom on my lens to get a better look.

Moose on the move.

Moose zoom in.

“Even the moose are on the move towards the north,” I noted.  I got out of the truck and followed the moose with my zoom lens.  She trotted closer until she reached the ditch not far from us and crossed the grid road.

Moose on the move in the ditch.

Moose on the move crossing the road.

We continued on towards Frank’s place, right before our farm.  Stopping, we got out and I shut my door too hard.  Both Curtis and I squeezed our eyes shut and brought our shoulders up to our ears.  I shook my head at myself.  My brother had told me that even the way you closed your truck door made a difference.  No noise – or at least as little as possible.  Mud and water with remnants of crunchy snow already made for a noisy walk out.

I hadn’t thought about the moose’s symbolism at the time, her message to me.  She was associated with feminine energy and power – as well as concealment – “shapeshifting camouflage”.  Disguise yourself so as not to be detected.

And, the importance of moving silently in nature – as large as a moose is, they can move through the woods very quietly, gracefully and quickly.  I was being clumsy and noisy.  My modern boots felt heavy on my feet.  I needed to find my leather moccasins that laced up my leg, along with the rubber soles I’d place over them when traveling in the mud.

My leather lace up moccasins – two pairs, one made with moose hide and the other with elk – had been my only footwear, aside from barefeet, in the mountains.  They smelled of hide.  They made a softer sound when walking.  They had continued to be my first choice in footwear for a couple of years after that, wearing them around my yard and while I was in nature.  No need for heavy shoes or boots that only weighed the body down.

A hint of sadness internally washed through me as I realized how I had inadvertedly removed myself from my connection to nature, a connection to the Creator, and to a degree, my connection to my spiritual beliefs over the last few years.  I was rusty in many senses, including in the spiritual sense when it came to asking for answers and then acknowledging them through the Creator’s creatures.

This moose had many messages for me.  Including reinforcing “the sense of smell”, of scent.  In trusting my inner voice.  Intuition.  In all instances.  Moose also represents soul retrieval – retrieving those parts of our soul that have been lost to us through various means and life circumstances.

The Details Include Feces – What’s On The Menu This Week?

Now, as we started down the trail, I stopped to look at the tracks in the mud.  Deer tracks alongside a dog type track – a coyote.  Fresh tracks.

Deer and coyote tracks in mud.

We continued walking and I spotted scat (coyote feces).  I looked at it closely and took a picture.

“Look at the hair in it,” I pointed out, noting, “Looks like deer hair.”  Curtis nodded.  “And, now I am examining poop –“ I began to laugh, “but as Shawn says, it lets us know what type of cuisine their eating so we can try with that type of call.”

Coyote feces showing hair.

We decided to use the fawn in distress call to try to lure in coyotes.  They had been hunting the deer all winter up until recently.  Frank had also noted that he hadn’t seen any young mule deer – yearlings – with the mature mule deer.  Yet, there were some yearling white tail deer, as we had just seen.  I asked Curtis about that.

Curtis said, “Mule deer are less flighty and spooky than white tailed deer are.  It makes sense that they’d get the muleys before the white tail.”

The wind was blowing fairly hard in spurts.  We checked our wind direction when we approached the clearing and heard a strong chorus of coyotes in the north and circling.  Not a couple.  Not a couple dozen.  Instead, what sounded like hundreds in the hills.

The deer were being pushed from the south towards the north.

I shook my head in disgust, saying, “These coyotes think their attending a never ending Woodstock!  Breeding like rabbits.  Eating what they please, when they please.  Walking into yards and amongst livestock like they have no respect for anyone or anything else – like they’re intoxicated and high on an unchallenged life, succumbing to a life of crime because no one is opposing or telling them otherwise.  Well, I guess Lil’ Red Riding Hood needs to pack a 30-30 in her basket.”

I snickered.  Curtis chuckled.

New Electronic Caller

I reached for our new electronic caller.  Primos Hunting Calls:  PowerDogg Predator Call, Model No. 3751.  Complete with a remote control.

The first thing that caught my eye about the electronic caller – getting me excited about hunting the coyote predators that had eaten three of my young horses and pets – was the seventeen coyotes surrounding Randy Anderson on the box.  Mr. Anderson must be very important.  I need to do some more research.

New Electronic Caller.

Having also bought some hand calls – including one that was strictly to imitate coyote sounds including howls and imitating a male challenge.  These calls had somehow scampered off to Curtis’s truck during the week.  I wasn’t impressed, wanting to practice my calls while I did housework and tended to children.

My four year old had also taken my new camouflage gloves and was re-enacting fighting coyotes with his fists, setting up traps and hiding spots to spy on coyotes, and shooting his Nerf Gun.  I drew the line when he asked me to be the coyote in his game.

(Note to self – get a cabinet with a lock so you can protect all your coyote clothes and equipment.  Attach a note to door saying, “These are not toys, people.  These are mama’s hunting supplies.  Keep Out!”)

Back to the PowerDogg Predator Call: it has 12 sounds to choose from:

Coyote Howl

Coyote Serenade

Coyote Challenge (oooh!)

Female Invitation (What a gentlemanly way to put it)

Cottontail Distress

Jackrabbit Distress

Coyote Pup Distress

Fawn Distress

Woodpecker Distress

Rodent Distress

Crow Frenzy

Snow Goose

We set it up and tip toed to cover in a little cluster of trees.  I hit the fawn distress call, as the coyotes were eating deer.  My babysitter, Leah, had just seen a cluster of deer the other morning while driving to a neighboring town, with three coyotes circling them.  I hit the remote button again.  Then again, and again.  Nothing.

Curtis ran out and retrieved the call, placing it closer.  The wind was gusting.  The remote still didn’t work.  I tried to motion to Curtis, who kept moving it up and trying it.  Even ten feet from us, it still didn’t work.

(Sidebar:  Although the remote control didn’t work, we did get the call exchanged for a new PowerDogg.  No bad PR intended, things like this can happen and I am very happy with the call…  I also bought a couple new hand calls, including a coyote call, which I will write about soon.)

Finally, in frustration, I yelled, “Bring the damn thing here!”

“Shhhhh!” he said back, “Quit yelling.”

I rolled my eyes, replying, “Like seeing your big stature of a body in the open is helping.”

“Shhhhh!,” he said annoyed.

“Don’t sh-st me, Big Daddy.  Give me that remote and call, and I’ll work it here.”

It was getting dark.  We looked at each other and started to snicker.  Then, we sat, turning the volume on high on our new electronic call.  I’d soon learn that was another mistake.

“Tonight’s shot.” I shook my head.

“Too windy anyway,” Curtis commented.

“Turn the camera on,” I giggled, “Might as well make this all worth something.”

Laughter is very important to my belief system – also known as Coyote Medicine…  Lesson brought forward when there’s a danger of taking things too seriously with the risk of becoming rigid…

Every animal comes to you with a message.  My mind working over time as we drove around scouting for coyotes, I asked the Creator for some guidance on what would enable me to have a more successful coyote hunt.  A couple of miles later, I spotted an animal in the ditch.  I told Curtis to stop and back up.

A skunk.  I got out and took a couple of photos, pondering the skunk’s symbolism – reputation.  Also, the expression, “You’ve been skunked”.  There was no need to see this animal to know what it was, as a person only needed to smell the little cat-like creature to know a skunk was in close proximity.

Symbolic Skunk

A skunk.  In water.  Water represents knowledge.  His back was to the east, aligning with him in this sense.  In the place of new beginnings.  The east is also the direction that eagle represents along with the element of air…

Scent, or rather lack of, is very important with hunting.  Particularly with coyotes, who work heavily on their sense of smell.  Wind direction is also crucial, but in our area, with so many bushes in every direction, coyotes could be in any one cluster of trees at any given time.

I was raised to pay attention to the smallest details.  That nothing was insignificant.  Often, it is in the little details – when taken into consideration and connected – that provide a great pool of resources that contribute in creating success on many levels.

I knew I wasn’t being as anal as I could be with ensuring I was scent free.  I had continued to wear my clean scented underarm deodorant and professional “candy-smelling” hairspray.  I also continued using my salon shampoo and conditioner.  Nor was I being careful with washing the clothes beneath my new hunting outfit with unscented detergents.  I now scolded myself about that while looking at the skunk.

I said to Curtis, “I need to rub leaves and dirt in my hair.”

He looked at me, saying, “People will think you are crazy for sure.  You can buy shampoo and conditioner, Sheila.”

I shrugged, “It’d be more fun to rub the dirt on my face and hair.”

“Let’s just go to the city tomorrow and get some stuff,” he said.

I smiled.  Not a shopper for clothes, per se, I loved shopping for saddles, horse stuff and now…  more hunting shopping!

I strutted into that hunting store the next day in my four inch spiked high-heeled boots and camo colored hair.  With a fresh French manicure, I grabbed a cart while the men behind the hunting knife counter watched me, curiously.  Curtis snickered at the sight.  On a mission, I found the first thing on my list.

A Scent-A-Way Basic Scent Elimination Kit, priced at $29.99.  It includes:

Scent-A-Way Fresh Earth Dryer Sheets

Scent-Safe Garment Storage Bag

2x Ultra Concentrate Laundry Detergent

100% Odor-Free Anti-Perspirant Deodorant

12 oz. Scent-A-Way Spray Advanced Formula

Antibacterial Deodorizing Bar Soap

The motto:  Hunt Clean – Hunt Scent Free.  I planned to spray my boots with the Advanced Formula, along with other items I wouldn’t be washing.

Some of the women in my area commented that buying such a kit meant the sellers “saw me coming”.  Au contraire, mademoiselles.  I didn’t want the coyotes to smell me as I walked out to set up.  As the Scent-A-Way box said, “Let’s face it, you are going up against the best noses in the business.”  I also reminded Curtis that he had to become as anal about no scents when hunting coyotes as he was with prey animals.  Perhaps, more so.

I also purchased the Scent-A-Way Shampoo and Conditioner, stating it leaves your hair clean and scent free while the conditioner leaves hair “soft and manageable”.  I snickered, thinking about all the men out there with flowing locks.

Yet, my greatest discovery was the Hunter’s Woodland Camo Crème Make-Up – which actually also comes in a compact with a mirror.  How I wanted to be a squirrel in a tree, watching – as a hunter, like Curtis standing 6’ 6” tall, pulled out his compact in the woods and dabbed his make-up on or touched it up.

“Here are those masks,” Curtis offered, “Or do you want the make-up?”

I looked from one to the other, “I’llll taaaaake the compact!  No, wait, this make-up…  No, wait, I really want the mask though…  but the make-up comes in such nice colors: Mud Brown, Flat Black and Leaf Green.  I choooooooose the make-up!”

No glare – from either Curtis or the make-up.  Long lasting under all conditions.

The make-up was also easy to apply and remove.  Move over Maybelline.

“You have to wear the make-up, too, Curtis,” I warned.

“I have a mask,” he quickly said.

I grinned like a wolf, saying, “No, the make-up is better.”

We made a few more selections in the hunting store while Curtis’s eyes kept lighting up brighter and brighter.  “I use to feel guilty about shopping here and spending money.  I’m really liking that you’re hunting now.  You are really serious about this.”

“Hunting coyotes only,” I reminded, “And yes, I want to become very good at this.”  Curtis knew that anything I chose to embark on, I would want to try and perfect it to a fine art.

“Not interested in hunting anything else?” He asked, hopeful.

“Nope.  I’m not interested in hunting prey animals – couldn’t kill one.  But, a predator – a smart one is very mentally stimulating and challenging.  Plus, it’s a predator.  And, I have good reasons to hunt the coyotes.”

“Would you hunt other predators, then?”

I twisted my mouth, thinking.  “Not unless they were posing a serious threat to people or other animals.  Then, I might.”

Walking into the electronic and hand call section, I clapped my hands with excitement.  Oohing and ahing over the selection, I grabbed a few soft calls with my freshly manicured nails. (However, my new calls are reserved for another blog post coming soon…)

Watching Reflective Items

Another realization came to me after seeing the skunk.  We drove a couple miles and stopped the truck again.  Getting out, I looked over the lay of the land and spotted a golden eagle sitting in a tree.  Eagles also represent the spirit, as they fly closest to the sun.

An large eagle with an impressive wing span when he flew away.

Upon returning home, I reviewed some photos Curtis had taken of me the other day. In one photo, a bright reflection from the sun was illuminating from my sunglasses. An epiphany occurred.  I connected the eagle’s sun connection with my sunglasses.

That reflection can’t be good when hunting, I noted.  Surely, wild animals would see it and connect that something abnormal was in their domain. It hadn’t occurred to me that the metal on my sunglasses would reflect light and possibly cause a potential problem in the field, until now.

Note reflection from metal on sunglasses.

I noted to myself – Nothing shiny exposed ever.  Necklaces, rings, metals, or frames on sunglasses that are metal – definitely no bling on them or me.  As my eyes cannot handle bright light, I decided to switch my sun glasses to a very plain plastic framing with no metal exposed…