Coyote Encounters

Wisdom and folly, the magic of a coyote

On Monday mornings, I typically take our dog, Maven, on the horse loop. It’s a simple one-mile walk where Maven is off-leash, able to sniff whatever she wants, and we go at her pace. We call it the horse loop because there used to be two horses in the red barn halfway through the walk. Over the years, only one horse remained. These past few weeks, the barn has been vacant. I hate to think why that may be.

We’ve seen coyotes on this walk before, which I like. There is a kinship with coyotes that I can’t quite explain. One that reminds me of my late mother. I sometimes pretend that she has reincarnated as a coyote to keep a curious eye on my family and me. In the Animal Speak book, the author talks about coyotes having a sort of magic. “Much magic has been associated with the coyote, but the magic does not always work. Even in its not working, it serves a purpose. There is always hidden wisdom where the coyote is concerned.”

They are wild, smart, and common around Ojai. They stir an excitement in me, coupled with awe. I keep a respectful distance and often turn around when we encounter them, honoring their space and land, for I feel certain, they were here before us.

This past Monday morning, we descended the hill by the barn only to find a coyote, slightly smaller than Maven, trotting towards us. It didn’t seem frightened by us, so we paused to watch it. I slowly walked over to Maven to grab her collar, watching her hackles rise in nervousness. Years ago, when she was younger, she once chased a coyote down a trail. Mid-chase, the coyote flipped around. Maven did the same thing, but it nipped her on the tail. She’s never chased them again.

Maven on a different walk, in the Ventura River Preserve.

Maven is 15. Her eyesight is going, and her hearing is also shot. As the coyote trotted closer and closer, Maven pressed into my side. I could almost hear her teeth chatter, and I imagined her timidly saying, “momma please protect me.” The more Maven grew fearful, the closer the coyote came. I didn’t get the sense it was coming to attack, however, my maternal instinct lifted my arm, encouraging the coyote to take a wider birth around us. She followed suit.

As it passed, we carried on. Every few steps, Maven and I looked back just in case it decided to hunt us. I felt the fear in my head and saw it remain on Maven’s hackles. Clearly, the coyote meant no harm, yet I’d met the moment with uncertainty, concerned it might cause us harm. All of this in my head, void of heart.

Akin to how the world seems to be treating one another. Broken ceasefires and regular airstrikes, ethnic violence, ICE raids, a feud with the Pope, and a Triumphal Arch in DC. Humanity is steeped in reaction. In heady actions that are a far cry from the wisdom and care of the heart.

Maven and I continued to walk down the road, and a second coyote appeared. She was bigger than Maven and wary of our being on the same path. This time, I choose to pause and to feel her in my heart first. I audibly told her that it’s ok. That we’re here to enjoy the morning, just like she is. She skittered into the grapevines to our left and stopped to watch us. We remained still, sending love. She decided to run back across the road and disappeared through a hole in the chain-link fence, allowing us a path to cross.

The rest of the walk left me musing about how different the encounters felt. Between the two coyotes, I had the choice of how I showed up. The first coyote, I spun instantly into reactionary mode. No time to think, must defend my family at all costs. No matter what. The second, I paused and found my heart. Sending love to this non-human kin and seeing that we are no different. Just two entities out enjoying the magic of an early morning in Ojai, before the rest of the neighborhood awakes.