In
Victorian times, people of good breeding and character with time on their hands
apparently went “calling.” As either a
pass into another’s home or as a token of the visit, these folks left behind a
calling card in a lovely dish placed on some sort of table in the
entryway. These ornate calling cards
engraved with the caller’s name held special significance if one bent the left
top corner one way or another meaning if a different corner were bent or
torn.
While this
seems terribly complicated, I have found that nature deals with calling cards
of a different and much less difficult sort.
Having walked hundreds of miles down country roads and paths, I have
observed more than a few calling cards left in the middle of the road to mark
borders of local coyotes. These calling
cards, while every bit as clear in their message, aren’t nearly as ornate or as
collectible as those left by our Victorian ancestors.
In case I
haven’t made it obvious yet, passing coyotes leave scat piles in strategic and
clearly visible patches of road or trail. Over time, I have observed enough
tokens of their visits to know they want other coyotes, my dogs, and me to
acknowledge their presence in the neighborhood.
In fact, their frequent messages aim to tell me they claim my drive ,
pasture, and surrounding section roads.
I am the interloper.
While
Victorian cards present the visitor’s name in ornate script, surrounded by the
filigreed designs of the time, coyotes leave simple little messages. If, however, one is attentive, one can read
volumes in those epistles.
Over the
summer and into this fall, I put together a list of messages I have interpreted
in recent months. Coyotes tend to be
opportunistic feeders, and though they sport a lovely set of canine incisors,
they will eat fruits, berries, and melons.
Late spring and early summer notes are more numerous as a result of the
fibrous nature of the “ink.” These
calling cards never varied much in theme.
Some of the messages included lines saying, “Hey, check out the
mulberries. Who needs rabbits when the
berries fall off the tree into your mouth.” Another card might read,
“Mulberries rule, but watch out for the darn birds.” Later in the summer, I might read a similar
message along these lines, “If you thought mulberries were good, you have to
try the currants.” “This season’s
currants defy description—flavor and bulk make them first choice of all
coyotes.”
As the
berries shriveled and fell to the ground, these calling cards took on a new
texture and dimension. Rodents came back
into fashion. The messages might read, “
Whoa, that was one big bunny!” or “Packrats make great snacks.” Lately I have
noticed coyote diets tend to include a little rodent fur and little round seeds
I haven’t identified, hence the following motto, “Eat a balanced diet—a little
meat, a little grain make a coyote sleek, sassy, and fast.”
While it
may seem odd to relate a coyote’s natural bodily function to calling cards left
behind by Victorian gentlefolk, similarities exist. Coyotes don’t have many options when it comes
to leaving notes advertising their presence in home territory. Left to natural devices then, they leave
these scat piles in the road to serve the same purpose as old fashioned human
calling cards. Your dog reads it with
his nose. You read it with your eyes.
Take note when you see one. A wild
creature has dropped by for a visit.
Hope it was pleasurable.
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