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

Monday Shoot

Monday being Martin Luther King and General Lee Day, I figured it was a good idea to shoot some guns. So I went to the range with GWB, who wanted to practice with his new Sig and check out a Christmas gift of a spotting scope.

So we blasted away, which was a lot of fun, then went for an armed excursion in some nearby woods. That was good too, although hoped for squirrels didn't materialize, despite the great stealth and calling expertise of the hunters.

Then, right at dusk, the air was filled with wild howling. It was an eerie, untamed sound and it taught me something, Viz. If you want to call coyotes, set up near the woods by the range. 

Shoot straight,

LSP