It sounded like a young coyote. The yaps and wails and howls were heart wrenching, even at 4 a.m. I got up out of bed to peer through my window. Was it trapped in someone’s yard? Was it injured? How had it gotten separated from the rest?
The light from the Super Moon had everything lit up like the Vegas strip, and I looked for a pack roaming the neighborhood. My ears strained to hear answering calls from the hills not more than a couple blocks away. Surely, Mom or Dad would be taking soundings to get a handle on his location, and come to the rescue.
With the heat, the drought and some new construction nearby, I know the animals are roaming further into the ‘hood at night looking for unsuspecting cats or small canines to call dinner. But that sound! The pitch and the almost human cadence of this coyote’s howls were like a 911 call begging for HELP!
On and off for an hour I listened, wondering…hoping…feeling distressed for this wild thing so obviously in trouble.
And then, I heard it.
Angry…curt….MALE. “Shut UP!”
You are kidding me, right?
All that ruckus – all that ANGST I was feeling (at 4 o’clockinthefuckingmorningthankyouverymuch) – was nothing more than the neighbors dog whining because Joe Loud Mouth put it in the garage?
It’s going to be a long day.