COYOTES, WOLVES AND PUPPY DOGS

COYWOLF

          It was early in the morning when I began writing this blog; dawn had yet to break. McGee, unaware of time, had to go outside at 5am. Nothing like standing in the darkness, clouds so thick, neither shiny stars or a luminous moon were visible. There's an eeriness that accompanies darkness on a warm summer eve that is emphasized even more in the icy quietness of a winter's night. Although highly unlikely, it sometimes feels as if many eyes are peering through the bare shadowy trees and whatever terrifying beasts that may be lurking in the murky darkness are creeping closer, ever closer. Take for instance the other night, I stood with the puppy as he stopped mid-stream, cocked his head, the silence broken by the howling and yipping of coyotes down by the lake. I'd also heard their mournful cries, intermingled with shriek yips, about two weeks ago, and from what I understand, these are the sounds they make when they have just made a kill, most likely a deer. The cries are ominous and scary because a pack of coyotes, especially hungry coyotes on the prowl are very dangerous predators. However, perhaps they are not true coyotes, they be coywolves, which are a hybrid found mostly in eastern North America. I wonder if the changing climate has something to do with the interbreeding because it seems polar bears have been mating with other types of bears as well.

          McGee is very playful; if only I could be that way again. I play with him in an old man fashion, mostly sit and throw things for him to fetch, which luckily for me, he thinks this is great fun. I can remember the first puppy I ever had. Although my mother didn't care for dogs or any animals very much, my dad must have twisted her arm because on Christmas day when I was around age 13, they gave me a reddish-coloured cocker spaniel. Because he was so bouncy like most puppies, I named him Skippy. Of course there were strict rules that I would have to house train him or I wouldn't be allowed to keep him. One afternoon, and I remember the day well, it was January 22, when I came home from school and no one was home. After I had gone to the bathroom, I noticed the little dog had pooped on the kitchen floor, which made me angry. While scolding Skippy, I quickly cleaned it up before anyone had a chance to see it. Then, at first I thought he was playing, until he started walking funny, fell on his side and within seconds he was dead. We had rats in our house and my parents had laid a small dish of poison on the bathroom floor against the wall under the big claw-foot tub, which he must have eaten. I remember feeling so sad, tears streaming down my face as I sat on the floor holding my little Skippy in my arms, wishing with all my heart that he would take a breath and come back to life. How long I held him I don't remember but probably for a long time because while I could still feel his warm body, he just seemed to be asleep. I never would have thought that after so many years ago, tears would be flowing down my cheeks as I remember that wonderful little puppy.

          I don't think I can write anymore; feeling too sad...cheers, eh!