The meanest, toughest, baddest dog on earth is not a pit bull, or a german shepherd, or a giant wolf hybrid. It is the dachshund. The AKC acknowledges it, and everyone who has ever owned a good one knows it. I will learn it over and over again throughout Tigger’s lifetime. By some stroke of luck I managed to cajole Blue the cat inside at dusk. You can almost feel when the coyotes are about. Blue was out in the open, where a cat should not be at dusk, and changed his mind several times before bolting for the house. Blue concerns me. He’s young, inexperienced, and he’s not very mean. And he’s indecisive. He hesitates. There’s no time for over-thinking things in the wild. Max, on the other hand, was a different animal in his youth. He was big, lean, and muscular, with upper fangs that extend well beyond his bottom lip, and massive claws to match. When he stood on his hind legs he could put his front paws on my hip. But it was his attitude, I’m certain, that insured his survival. Max had no problem shredding anything that got too close, with or without a reason, and he did it lightning-fast, with surgical precision. Sometimes it would take a few minutes before you realized you were bleeding. Darkness had almost settled in when I took the dogs, on leashes, out to the playground. There the light sand and the low fence offer some measure of control, or at least awareness, over the wilderness. As soon as I released Winnie I knew I’d made a mistake. Her body language was elevated with excitement. Head high, she caught an airborne scent, bolted across the sand, then turned abruptly. A bird flew off from some perch among the playground equipment; both Winnie and Tigger chased it, Tigger following the bird while once again Winnie picked up the airborne scent. We saw the silhouette at the same time. Winnie bolted and I tried to call her out. She slowed but did not stop. Counting on the speed of whatever wild thing - deer or coyote - she was in pursuit of, I was reasonably certain this would be a chase and not an encounter. Winnie has done her share of wild full speed runs through the chaparral after jack rabbits and deer. I was fairly sure this was neither. Deer make a lot of noise crashing through the brush, and they snort. I heard neither of these sounds. Tigger realized what was happening…took a few steps in the direction Winnie departed to, thought better of it, and somehow tracked Winnie’s progress, through chamise thick and eight feet tall, by what sense I am not sure. Tigger has always been night blind; her eyes glow blue with cataracts now, and her hearing is failing her. But clearly, she had a good idea where Winnie was, which I did not. Winnie also makes a lot of noise, crashing through the brush and breathing in excited huffs, rather like a bear. That noise tailed off rapidly this time. Somewhere in the fading light and the dense flowering chaparral was my dog, and she wasn’t making any noise at all. My voice grew increasingly deep and stern as I called for her. In tee shirt, pajama pants and rhinestone-studded Nine West flip flops, I stood no chance of navigating the brush, but moreover, I was not about to abandon Tigger, or let her come along, which she would have. The piercing cry of a coyote cracked the dry air, drowning my own voice. Neither failing hearing or eyesight prevented Tigger from following the sound at speed, back to the playground, where a fence separated her from the coyote just on the other side of it. Not unaware of her size and potential disadvantage being so far away from her own pack, Tigger did not rush the fence, but stood several feet back, meeting the coyote’s voice with her own. I could hear Winnie now. She had not made it far into the brush, and was closer to me than to Tigger and the vocalizing coyote. I yelled in earnest now, I screamed, I threatened, a constant barrage of sound growing ever more intense, until the very brush crouched and the ground resonated with the sound; a sound I likely could not reproduce on cue, a sound that ultimately brings Winnie loping out of the brush. Prior to this, Meadow Campground a quarter mile away was awash in laughter, cheers, joyful yells and boisterous conversation. When I am done yelling, you could have heard a pin drop. There is only one thing I know about training dogs. Praise them when they come to you, no matter what theyve done, no matter what you’d like to do to them for running away in the first place. She knew she would not be stuck or scolded, and that is why she came. Winnie let me put her leash on before we went to join Tigger at the fence. I’m pretty sure this is the same coyote that we encountered on the solstice eve, the one I photographed while it scolded us for encroaching on its space. He is bold…much bolder than I’m comfortable with, much bolder than others from his pack. He hollers and cries and I yell at him and Tigger barks and I throw rocks in his general direction, knowing I will never come anywhere close to landing one. Winnie watches, silent, still, not pulling on her leash, no hackles up…just watching and listening, calm. It’s a strange response for a dog that gets so excited about seeing another dog…or a child, or a bird…that she’s knocked me flat trying to get to them. The coyote is belligerent, howling over Tigger’s emphatic barks and interrupting me while I explain the concept of sharing space unobtrusively. We follow its voice closer to the house. Tigger is ready to go in and flush him out of the bushes…Winnie just listens to the conversation. It is finally my own rendition of coyote - two incredibly loud and high pitched bursts of howl designed not to mimic, but to overthrow - that send the coyote slinking off into the brush, silenced. I’m not sure what I said exactly, but it was clear to the wild canid, and the night has been silent since. Back inside the house, Blue is lying in the window, relaxed, having watched the interaction; Max, who hates coyotes and growls at the sound or smell of them, is obviously upset by the encounter. Winnie will need some time to process everything, and mills about, not sure what comes next. Tigger is slightly pensive, as though she is all too aware of the dangers that she faces, even in her own yard. She is keen to her own limitations, but never in a confrontation; only afterward, when it is over. Tigger will probably have nightmares tonight. Or perhaps, dreams of kicking some young coyote’s hindquarters. If she wakes up suddenly, startled and disoriented, wide eyed and frightened, it will be the former. It is only the first day of July. This is going to be a long summer.
Posted on: Wed, 02 Jul 2014 05:44:50 +0000