A Coyote Story

 

A churchman called in the other night and our conversation ranged far and wide. He told me about his grandfather, wounded at the end of World War I and demobilized after the Armistice. On returning to the States he caught the train from New York (?) and found himself several days later in Valley Mills, Texas, late at night.

There was no one to pick him up so he decided to walk home, carrying his duffel, home being an earth floored house some 15 or more miles away. So off he went across country, and in the depth of the night became aware he was surrounded by coyotes, "They were all around him, he could hear them moving and he had his knife out. But he made it back to the earth floored house that was his home. Father, it wasn't that long ago."

No, it was not. Sometimes I take guests out to the fields and brush near my friend's range then, at dusk, we hunker down and I tell them to listen as the coyotes start to howl. What an eerie, unearthly sound. The wolf, they say, is their natural predator.

Cave Canem,

LSP

Wolves

 

There we were, in some kind of biker go-down in 1996 and it was New Years Eve, high spirits, right? And there I was in a blazer and regimental tie, pretty snappy. So one thing leads to another, "Happy New Year fella!" And enormous 8' tall biker bloke replies, "Is it, fkr!"

We look each other in the eye, me staring upwards, obviously, and there's a moment of, what can we say, friction. Will this end well or not? And it does. "Errrr, leave 'im alone, he's called Adolf, he's alright." And so I was. Curiously, I was the last man standing at that party, tie and all. Can't let the regiment down, what?

Cheers,

LSP