The Watcher and the Coyotes

The watcher occasionally patrolled the boundaries of her domain, but primarily rested in a soft niche with a good vantage point, surveying all that was hers. The early morning, before the light of the sun climbed over the mountain and the land lay still, was her favorite time. She stood and stretched, then gave herself a vigorous shake, the tags on her collar sounding loud and foreign in the quiet air.

A coyote appeared at the edge of her boundary. The growl emanating deep within her chest warned him not to advance any further. He let out a slight yip, and two more coyotes emerged from the shadows. The watcher snarled; knowing they were baiting her, trying to make her abandon her realm.

The coyotes were hungry and domestic dogs had been easy pickings for them. The three coyotes had baited a dog into chasing them just two days earlier. The owner of that dog would never see it again.

The largest of the three coyotes ventured boldly over the watchers boundary line, challenging her authority. The watcher may have been very large, but she was also very agile; her attack was swift and violent. The coyote made a hasty retreat, leaving a small spot of blood from a minor wound on the ground.

The watcher did not follow as the coyote anticipated. She stood at her boundary line, not willing to leave her territory unguarded.

Presently, discarding hopes of luring the watcher away, the three coyotes began darting at the big dog. First one, then another would dash at her, trying to wear her down or catch her off balance, so one of them could rush in for the kill. This tactic frequently worked quite well. The domestic dog usually found it self surrounded, the coyotes worrying at it until it was too tired to fight effectively.

But this white behemoth, with her long hair and thick undercoat proved too much for them. Aside from her ability to thwart the attacks from everywhere at once, she now went for the kill. The coyotes had pushed her too far.

By the time the sun scaled the mountains, two coyotes lay dead and the third had staggered into its den, licking its wounds and lucky to be alive.

The watcher lay down in her favorite place and licked at the few small wounds she’d acquired; rising a time or two to sniff at the dead coyotes, which had intruded upon her domain and attacked her. A deep rumble in her chest could be heard; her favorite place to observe and protect no longer as comfortable as it was before dawn.

* * *

Right on time, she heard her name called and trotted toward the house for her morning meal; the fight and the coyotes evaporating from her thoughts as the idea of breakfast entered.

THE END