Canis latrans follows humans where ever we go, living off our leavings. They pursue our scraps and the animals atracted to our waste and the table we set for birds and pets. Coyotes have walked in our wagon tracks and footsteps, across trails and highways, to occupy North and Central America. As we exterminated their enemies, especially wolves, their populations grew and their territory expanded. They grew bolder. After grey wolves were re-introduced in Yellowstone National Park, coyote populations dropped by half, and they abandoned the apex predator behavior they had assumed.
My valley had a stable coyote pack for a long time, until the neighbor without adequate protection for his sheep started taking them out in revenge for lamb nabbings. A year later, the rabbit population exploded and garden destruction began. Worse, the mesh fence my neighbor put in to keep his wayward cows out of my yard blocks the travel of coyotes. Now, I’m happy to see any coyotes at all.
I knew I had a coyote around somewhere in June: scat with cherries and occasional hair was appearing on the road and in my horses’ paddocks. I finally caught sight of a young coyote as I was meandering around the fields on a rental tractor, mowing thigh high grass. Many raptors follow tractors, for good reason. The rumbling and vibration of the machinery chases mice and voles from the grass, where they become easy prey. Those that don’t survive the tires or blade become dinner for scavengers.
This young pup is on her own early. In the morning, she would flee when she saw me.
At first wary, this young coyote figured out after several hours that the tractor meant food, and by evening was following at a safe distance. I can’t imagine how the scrawny little thing stuffed so many rodents down her gullet. She was still at it after the tractor got turned off at sunset, stalking the grass for confused voles. Another coyote learning the ways of her ancestors, following people for our scraps.
Not a great picture, but you get the idea how young and scrawny this coyote is. Most pups don’t survive their first year.
She seems to have figured out that the tractor means food.
Success- chewing on a vole
She got braver as the evening wore on, even though her belly started to look round with the feast.
This region’s legendary traffic is my excuse for not indulging in urban cultural events and going to dinner with friends. My friends live three dozen miles away, south on a perpetually crowded freeway, or a thousand miles away. My family, like many, is spread across the country. But travel isn’t really the barrier, because I do that a lot. I just like wandering around by my lonesome, in the moment, in as natural an environment as I can find. 
The animal company I keep does need people, though. They need us to plant more trees and shrubs, build more rock piles and slash piles, hoist up more nests until there is enough nature to build their own. They need cleaner, cooler water and skies without flight hazards and light pollution. At my little sanctuary, they reward my efforts by mulitplying and bringing their offspring back each year. My visitors are a study in simplicity, with simple wants: food, family, turf, home. This, I understand.
The short-eared owls aren’t yet rare, but we still stand breathless waiting for them to fly moth-like as they hunt at sundown. We listen for their raspy barks in flight, watch for them to land on a post, rootwad, or elderberry stem, then their heads to wither us with the piercing owl stare. I know they are reliable here at the Welts-Samish restoration area, overwintering before returning to northern breeding grounds.
Silver Snag Studio 