I’ve spent more time chasing things with a whip in the last week than I have in the past two years. Ok, I’ll admit it. I’m chasing coyotes. With my dressage whip. Why, you ask? Simple.
They have decided that my farm is a snack bar. And now with moving, we decided not to purchase a rifle. Seriously, I do think my Indian name would have been “Chases Coyotes With Whip”. And I’m not talking about late at night. No siree! I’m talking about broad daylight!
The one I just chased off from the bottom of the pasture was little for coyotes around here. Oh yes! He was standard sized. And oddly, he ran right past Mo and didn’t even stop to sniff out the snack waiting for him. Either he knew he was in enemy territory or he was full. Mo’s pretty lucky anyways, I guess.
After the debacle of the other evening, the coyotes are steering clear because they think I’m crazy.
You see, it was evening, not quite dusk yet and coyotes were on the dog trail, just 30 feet from the house, yipping and calling. It was still light out, bright out and most of the cats were outside, or so would have been normal for them. I was in the living room, basking in the glow of a successful furniture or workout equipment sale, gleeful that we had the deposit money necessary to move Casey and another heavy item less that I had to help lift twice in coming days (once on the truck, once off). And from the office, Bad Pants yells, “Coyote!” That was it. I grabbed the Dog Dazer and my whip and went flying outside.
Now, I should tell you that the Dog Dazer is an ultrasonic device I bought after being hassled by a neighboring Chocolate Lab last winter. It’s supposed to stop aggressive dogs by making a noise that confuses and startles them. And it works. At least on dogs. But apparently, not on coyotes.
By the time I got out the door and part way up the hill, it had moved higher up the hillside. Somewhere, on the other side of the blackberry and poison oak tangle, it had found prey and was yipping for it’s pack mates to come assist with the kill. Not knowing if it was one of my cats it had cornered, I started screaming, “The Snack Bar is CLOSED!” and I cracked my whip. Ok, less like cracking, but the damn thing whistled in a way that probably reminded the rest of the pack of bullets because their voices started moving off, instead of continuing in the direction of the one yipping near me.
The yipping continued. I paused to locate the direction of the sound. The yipping continued. Clearly this coyote had something cornered still. In hopes of driving the coyote off I yelled, “If you eat one of my cats, I swear I’ll beat you to death with my whip!” Yes, I’m sure I sound like a crazy person to my neighbors, even if they don’t understand much English. The yipping stops. Just suddenly dead quiet.
About this time, Bad Pants comes out with his big mag-light and tells me to not go farther. He’ll go investigate. Ok, he’s a few seconds behind because he was smart enough to put real shoes on, not just slide into flip-flops like I did.
Up the hill he goes, plowing through the underbrush towards the last location of the sound, ready to bludgeon to death a coyote eating one of our cats. (Please remember, this is within feet of our house, in dog patrolling zone so it smells like dog pee everywhere).
While he’s going up the hill, I do a head count on our cats. All are accounted for. Lucky for me, only Salem and Mo were outside. But then, Mo lives outside by choice. Salem is sitting on the deck railing, fluffed to three times his normal size, waiting for the door to magically open.
Mo was sitting calmly under the rear bumper of our truck, just hanging out like this is all an every day occurrence. Apparently he believes the coyotes won’t bother him. (And after what I saw this morning, I just might have to agree!)
Bad Pants comes back down the hill, this time using a dog trail. He reports that he saw a lot of tracks about 20 feet above the lower dog trail, where it loops back around up the hill, but can’t locate whatever it was the coyote was after. Whatever it was, it wasn’t one of MY cats.
Guess I should go get a new lunge whip since Luna chewed mine a while back. At least I can get that to crack nicely and not just make a bullet-like whistle…
And yes, I’m a crazy person who chases coyotes with a whip.