(Photo stolen from SigmaEye on Flickr)

Oh, the neighbor's German shepherd is out, I thought to myself as I watched him through the kitchen window. He was out in the east pasture, just beyond the ditch bank, digging. He jumped back and landed on four stiff legs, never taking his eyes from the freshly-dug earth. He was quite a distance from me, yet close enough that I could watch him doing doggy things.

Whatever he was digging must have gotten away, or he lost interest, because he sat down and scratched a flea, presumably, behind his ear. Wait, the neighbor has TWO German shepherds, and they are inseparable, I thought.

Oh.

This was no dog; this was a coyote. A big coyote, to be sure. I have seen him before -- once very near, on the road, as I turned out of the driveway and headed off to work. I don't think this coyote is quite as big as the neighbor's shepherds, but he's close. His thick winter coat, so beautiful this time of year, probably hides a lean animal, though not for lack of available critters to eat. He makes his den somewhere in the acres of berry bushes that encroach on the pasture and abut a marsh. The same berry bushes house rabbits, opossums, skunks, a host of birds, and feral cats. The adjacent fields are home to gophers, squirrels, moles, pheasants, and sometimes wild turkeys. The marshes support an increasing population of wild ducks and herons, and lately a chorus of cacophonous frogs, who are thrilled by the new network of puddles in the fields.

This coyote is at the top of the food chain in predator paradise.

No one ever takes a shot at him. There are very few large dogs roaming the area. His main competition is a den or two of foxes, and raptors in the air. He has all the food he can catch. And, as long as he does his part to keep the critter population under control, no human will bother him.

As long as he doesn't come for the chickens I plan to get this spring. We'll have to have a talk if he crosses that line.

I heard two or more coyotes on the west side of the property the other night, neither yipping nor howling, but singing a song I hadn't heard before. They seemed to be enjoying making Carlos's yappy dogs bark themselves silly. Let 'em bark, the coyotes were thinking. We have free range and total access.

Remember, Coyote, I thought as I watched him from the east window. No chickens, and you and I will get along just fine.

We are surrounded.