Writer’s note: in March 2011, we were living in the South Loop of Chicago.
The first encounter here is adapted from text of an email exchange with friends almost immediately after the event.
The others are related from memory.
I’d long been convinced that my true calling was either as writer or a saucier (I love me some sauces).
However, I had an engineering degree and worked at a bank.
First Chicago Encounter
It was a cool, crisp night when I took the dog out.
We were at a brisk pace around the halfway point of a 2.3-mile roundtrip walk. I had my eyes focused on the ground a few feet in front of me.
I had let our 8 pound, 11 month old puppy was off the leash. He was running ahead and staying behind when he smelled something interesting.
At one point, walking through Museum Campus, near the Shedd Aquarium, I saw another dog out of the corner of my eye.
The puppy spotted it too, and slowly began to approach out of curiosity.
At first glance, it looked like a skinny German Shepherd. The animal was about 10 yards away when the puppy paused his advance.
After a beat, I'm pretty sure I yelled out loud, "Holy shit, it's a fncking coyote!"
The puppy must have sensed something was up and turned to look at me. He seemed to wonder why I was so keen on his potential new friend.
I picked up the dog and yelled "Get the fuck out of here!" as I took a step towards the coyote. It turned and walked towards the cul-de-sac by the big fish statue, where the drivers of two sedans were stopped. They watched the whole scene.
The coyote slinked off past their headlights towards the seagulls sleeping by the harbor.
Second Chicago Encounter
Later that that same year, after a birthday celebration for a visiting family member in Wicker Park, we came home three sheets to the wind.
It had been raining all day long.
By the time we got home after closing down all the bars, the rain had let up.
The dog had been cooped inside all day and night, so I walked him to Mark Twain Park by 15th and Prairie.
He was, again, off-leash and a few yards in front of me, off to my left, as we entered the grassy field.
We both simultaneously saw the pair of green eyes reflecting light from the lamppost.
This time, he was not cautiously curious about making a new friend.
The dog turned and ran back towards the street. The coyote ran after the dog. I yelled another expletive and tried running after the coyote. As I turned and planted, the soil gave, and I slipped into wet grass.
The bad news: I later learned my wallet had fallen out in the process.
The good news: after I quickly picked myself up to resume chase, I learned that that the coyote had both taken a bad angle and was also shy of the street light.
Luckily, the dog stopped, I was able to pick him up, and make our way back home in an adrenaline-laced stupor.
First San Diego Encounter
It was before midnight, about 50 yards from the entrance.
The dog was off-leash (there is a pattern emerging here), and about 10 feet in front of me on the sidewalk.
A coyote was on the other side of the street, quickly and silently crossed the median, and hopped up onto the curb 10 yards in front of the dog.
This time, I had the presence of mind to echo my first encounter, picking up the dog and yelling loudly, waving my arms.
Quite alarmingly, the coyote took a couple of steps forward.
I had to remind - or convince - mhself that no lone coyote was going to attack an adult human.
So, to the probable annoyance of sleeping neighbors, I kept yelling and gesticulating.
Eventually, the animal went back into the street, crossed the median, and continued its hunt for vermin.
Second San Diego Encounter
This morning, I took the dog out for his morning constitutional.
Unusually, a murder of crows was overhead in the trees, cawing loudly and incessantly.
For context, a rather deep open culvert separates properties, with an ornamental fence, most likely to guide landscaping personal.
The dog - off-leash, of course - was never more than 5 feet in front of me.
When we reached the end of the fence, a coyote had come up out of the culvert, seen me, and was trying to slink off away from us.
Note: Max is an old puppy, nearly deaf, and with diminishing eyesight.
The dog was curious and began to pursue. Interestingly, the coyote was intimidated, and took off along the fence line, before trotting back towards the sidewalk in broad daylight.
Moments later, a jogger came upon us.
He noticed the dog off-leash, and warned us about a coyote he had just seen a few yards behind him.
I told him that it went that way after my dog started to chase it.
Upon hearing the backstory of dog versus coyote, the man stopped running, pointed at the dog, bent over, put both his hands on his knees. He began laughing at the mental image of an inverse of the Second Chicago Encounter.
As soon as the coyote out of sight, we stood there in in the silence of the crows.
They were trying to tell us something all along.
