A Howling-fest at the Farnival

Last night, I was fast asleep. It was probably midnight. The bedroom window was open because the weather this week has been close to perfection, cool, sunny days with even cooler nights. Dogs were snuggled around my feet and behind my legs. It was like a cocoon of warmth inside our king-size bed.

Surprisingly, the coyotes cackling woke me up before the dogs; maybe it’s because coyote’s initial cries always sound more human than animal, or maybe the dogs were just sleeping so soundly it took them a moment to wake up. Whatever the reason, a few seconds later, as the coyote’s keening rose to a frantic crescendo, six dogs – all except arthritis-ridden Dessie and crated Tony- leaped up and bolted through the doggie door.

The dogs sprinted to the fence’s perimeter at the farthest edge of our backyard, closest to the forest, and barked, signaling something uninvited was dangerously close. Instead of retreating, the coyotes shouted back with their eerie yipping. They couldn’t have been more than a hundred yards away.

After a long minute of two packs – one wild and one domesticated – bickering back and forth, the clashing barks turned into howls and within moments I couldn’t distinguish coyote from dog. They were all howling together in perfect unison. It was beautiful and disturbing all at once.