Watchdog and the Coyotes

by Bill Wallace

  “What’s wrong, Red? Are you hurt?”

  “It’s my arthritis,” he moaned. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  I cocked an ear and tilted my head to the side. “What’s arthritis?”

  He whined and straightened his front leg. “It’s my joints. People get it, too. That’s how I learned the word. My master is always moaning and complaining about his arthritis. It happens to us sometimes when we get old. Our joints get stiff, and they hurt. I guess the cold brought it on.”

  I nudged him with my nose. “I can help keep you warm,” I said. I started to crawl through the doorway. Red’s house wasn’t nearly as big as mine. There wasn’t room.

  “Can you get up?”

  Red moved his legs and groaned. I nudged him again. “Come on over to my house. There’s plenty of room. We can snuggle up, and I’ll help keep you warm. You won’t hurt so much if you’re warm.”

  It took the Irish setter a long time to get up. On stiff straight legs, he followed me to the hole under our fence. He let out a little yelp and moaned when he bent down to squeeze through. Once we were both in my house, I gave Red the spot I had already warmed up. Then I lay down and kind of made a curve around him so I could keep him warm. For a time, he moaned and whined. I snuggled closer, and after a while Red relaxed and fell asleep.

  Once I was sure he was warm and comfortable, I dozed, too. Tomorrow night, if it was still cold, I would invite Poky to come and sleep with us. It felt good to have a friend to snuggle up with. I don’t think I ever slept so well. It was the best sleep I could ever remember.

  Until . . .

  Chapter 7

  The loud, awful sound of snarling and yapping and barking shook me from my sound sleep. I jumped when I heard the terrible noise. My head clunked the top of my doghouse.

  I shook the pain away and frowned, wondering what all the noise was.

  “What’s going on?” Red moaned.

  “Don’t know. I’ll go see.”

  I squeezed through the doorway of my doghouse and stretched.

  “That’s my bone!” Poky’s angry voice came from the other side of the fence. “You leave it alone.”

  There was more snarling.

  “That’s my food bowl! You get away from it!”

  Red poked his head out through my doorway. “What’s going on over in Poky’s yard?”

  “Don’t know.” I shrugged my ears. “But Poky sounds very upset about something.” I took a couple of steps toward the fence. “Poky? Poky, what’s wrong?”

  “Coyotes!”

  “Coyotes?”

  “Coyotes!” Poky screamed again. “You and Red get over here quick! There’s a whole pack of them. It will take all three of us to fight them off.”

  Red tumbled out of my doghouse. He was so stiff and sore he could barely get to his feet.

  “Come on,” he yapped. “We have to help.”

  I followed him toward the broken boards.

  Suddenly there was a loud growl from Poky’s yard.

  “Leave that alone! Get away from my food or I’m going to bite you.”

  “We’re not scared of you,” a strange voice snarled back. “If you bite us, we’ll eat you up instead of just taking your food.”

  “I got friends,” Poky barked. “You get out right now, or they’ll come over here and eat you up.”

  The coyotes only laughed.

  It took Red forever to limp across the yard. He shoved the boards aside with his nose and stumbled through.

  “Look!” a coyote yapped. “Another dog. He’s big. Run!”

  “Nah,” another coyote scoffed. “Look at him. He’s so old and crippled he ain’t gonna bother us. Let’s finish eating.”

  I reached for the board with my nose. I hesitated.

  What if the coyotes didn’t leave Poky alone? What if they tried to bite us? My legs shook. I couldn’t bite them back if they bit me. I don’t bite. Maybe I better not go through the hole.

  But when I heard more snarling and growling followed by a sudden painful shriek from Poky, I shoved the boards aside and squeezed through the hole.

  The coyotes scattered.

  Three of them leaped over the back fence. But when the two others saw that I wasn’t chasing them, they stopped. They crouched in the corners of the yard. They hid in the shadows.

  I could hardly see them. But I did see their yellow eyes, which caught the light from the big moon. I saw how their white teeth shone, too. Drool glistened as it dripped from their snarling mouths. That was all I could see of them.

  As I watched, I felt the hair rise in a ridge along my back. Something from deep inside made my rage boil. Without knowing why, I trembled. That smell—the same one I had smelled from the man in the stocking cap—swept into my nostrils. It wiggled my nose, but at the same time the smell made me feel big and strong. My lip started to curl, and I bared my fangs.

  Suddenly I caught myself. I was ashamed of the way I was acting. I took a deep breath and forced the hair to lie down on my back. I replaced the snarl on my lips with a smile.

  Poky raced between Red and me. His legs were stiff. The hair stuck out in a sharp line down his back.

  “Go get ’em, Sweetie! Go tear ’em up!”

  I made the smile stay on my lips. I forced my tail to wag. “Is there a problem, here?” I asked calmly. “Is there something I can do to help?”

  Poky snarled.

  “Yeah, there’s a problem. Those stinking coyotes are stealing my food. One of the guys that jumped over the fence took my best bone with him. Go get ’em, Sweetie. Eat ’em up!”

  “Now, Poky,” I soothed. “You know I don’t bite. Let’s see if we can talk this out. Let’s try to be friends.”

  Poky’s mouth flopped open. His head tilted to one side, and an ear drooped so low it almost touched the ground.

  “Friends!” he gasped. “With coyotes?”

  “Of course,” I nodded. “Friends are great. You can never have too many friends.”

  “But coyotes . . . !”

  I ignored him and turned toward the yellow eyes and white fangs in the corner. “Hello. My name is Sweetie. I’d like to be your friend.”

  The coyote only growled. His yellow eyes squinted.

  I shrugged. “I’m sure you know stealing is wrong. You didn’t really mean to take Poky’s food without his permission, did you?”

  A very big coyote who was hiding in the far corner of Poky’s yard took a step forward.

  “It’s been a very cold winter,” he growled. “The rabbits are all gone. We can’t find any lizards, and the people used a big machine to cover up all the garbage at the dump. We’re hungry.”

  “Oh,” I gasped, “that’s terrible. I’ve never been hungry, but I’m sure it must be awful.” I reached out a paw and laid it lightly on Poky’s shoulder. “My friend here is a good dog. I’m sure if you had only told him that, he would have been glad to share his food with you.”

  “What?” Poky’s eyes popped wide. “I can’t believe you said that.” He dropped his shoulder and shook my paw off. “Share with thieving coyotes? You must be nuts!”

  With that, he spun around. His nose in the air on one end and his tail in the air on the other, he trotted on stiff legs back to his doghouse. There he stood beside his food bowl and took a deep breath, trying to make himself look big.

  “It’s my food,” he growled. “You know I always get hungry for a midnight snack. If they steal my food, I won’t have any. I ain’t sharin’. I’ll fight for it before I let them steal any more.”

  My ears sagged. I heaved a deep sigh and sat down on my haunches. Red limped toward Poky. “Come on, Sweetie. Let’s help the little guy.”

  I didn’t follow him.

  The big coyote took a step. I stood up. The coyote drew back his paw and trembled.

  “Stealing is wrong!” I told the big coyote.

  “No, it’s not. It’s the way we coyotes live. We take whatever we find. We get it any way we can. If we’re s
mart enough and sneaky enough to take it, then it’s ours. That ain’t stealing.”

  I turned and shoved one of the boards aside in the fence.

  “Then you can have some of my food. I don’t have much left, but I will be glad to share it with you. That way we can be friends.”

  The coyotes only glared at me.

  After a long, long time, I finally gave up. If no one was willing to talk, the only thing for me to do was go home and get some sleep. I squeezed through the broken boards and curled up in my doghouse.

  Things were quiet for a long time. Suddenly there was a little growl. Then: “Yowieee!”

  I watched.

  Poky shot through the broken boards with his tail tucked between his legs. Red limped after him. Poky raced across the yard and hid behind my doghouse. Red went through the hole and hid in his own house.

  I crawled out of my house and went to see what was the matter.

  “He bit me,” Poky panted. “He bit me, and they stole the rest of my food and my chewy bone. Why didn’t you help me?”

  I leaned my cheek against the doghouse. “I tried. I offered to share my food with them.”

  Poky licked the little hole on his hind leg where the coyote had nipped him. “You can’t share with coyotes,” he snorted. “They don’t know how to share. You give them a little bit and they take everything. You should have helped me.”

  His big brown eyes looked very sad. He stared straight up at me and sniffed. “You should have helped me.”

  With that, he limped off and slipped through the broken boards. His head hung so low that his long, droopy ears dragged on the ground.

  All alone, I crawled into my doghouse. I felt so sad and helpless that my ears dragged on the ground, too.

  Chapter 8

  For the next three nights things were quiet and peaceful. Poky wouldn’t talk to me. Red stayed pretty much to himself. He wouldn’t come through the hole under the fence, and when I went to see him, he said the same thing Poky had: “You should have helped. I tried, but I’m too old and weak. They were going to bite me, too. You should have helped us.”

  Then he curled up in his house and wouldn’t talk to me, either.

  On the fourth night, the coyotes howled.

  They were far off in the desert, but this time I could understand them. They howled about how hard life was and how they’d always been poor and hungry. They howled for the rabbits or any other animals to come out of their burrows. Because, as the coyotes put it, “You owe it to us! We won’t hurt you. We’ll just eat you. We deserve to be fed.”

  They howled about how there was no justice in the world and how unfair it was for dogs and cats and people and horses and sheep to have homes and barns to sleep in, while coyotes had to sleep in a hole in the ground.

  And they howled and howled and howled.

  The next night they came back. This time there were six of them.

  Poky didn’t try to fight them. Instead, he shot through the hole in the fence and hid behind my doghouse.

  I went to Poky’s yard to investigate. The big coyote with sharp white fangs met me.

  I tried to talk with him. I offered to share my food with him. He only called me a big coward and told me to get lost.

  It was a cold night. When the coyotes finished eating what was left of Poky’s food, three of them curled up and went to sleep in his doghouse. I went back to my house and invited Poky to come inside and sleep with me. Poky didn’t even answer. He stayed behind my house, pouting.

  The coyotes came again the next night. This time, they came right after dark. They got there before Poky had a chance to eat any of the food his master had set out for him. They spent the whole evening sleeping in his doghouse while Poky shivered in the cold.

  They came back the next night, too. This time, instead of six, there were eight.

  Three of them ate Poky’s food and slept in his doghouse. The other five jumped over the back fence of Red’s yard.

  When Red called for help, Poky just thumped his tail on the ground. “He wouldn’t help me,” Poky huffed. “Said he was too old and sore. Darned if I’ll help him.”

  “He is old, Poky. It’s not his fault.”

  Poky just ignored me, so I went to see if there was anything I could do. I crouched down at the hole and stuck my head under the fence. Two coyotes stood there. One of them snapped at my nose. I jerked my head back. The coyote’s teeth missed my snout by only inches. When I offered to share my food with them, they just laughed and called me a coward and told me to get lost.

  Red tried to fight, but he was old and weak. It wasn’t long before he came tearing under the fence.

  “Why didn’t you help me fight them?” he asked, puffing and panting and all out of breath. “You should have helped.”

  Red went to the back of my doghouse. I followed, my ears dragging on the ground. Poky wouldn’t have anything to do with Red or me. He slept in the middle of the yard.

  After two days, my friends got hungry. We shared my food, and for three more nights the coyotes slept in Poky’s and Red’s houses and ate their food. They always came just after sundown and left before our people woke up in the morning. That way our masters never saw them.

  One bowl of dog food wasn’t much for three dogs. I ate very little. I didn’t want my friends to be hungry. My insides felt empty. At night my tummy would growl. It growled so loud that it echoed in my doghouse and woke me. I didn’t mind, though. I couldn’t let my friends go hungry, and . . . I couldn’t chase the coyotes away. I just couldn’t bite.

  The next night, the coyotes came back. This time there were ten.

  Two coyotes went to Poky’s yard. They ate his food and went to sleep in his house. Two went to Red’s yard. They ate his food and slept in his house. The others crept through the holes on either side of my yard.

  We had just started eating when they got there.

  “He is big,” one of the coyotes whispered as they crept closer to me.

  “Yeah,” answered the largest coyote, who I figured was the leader. “But he’s nothing but a big coward. Come on.”

  Poky and Red tried to gobble down as much food as they could. They were very, very hungry. Bravely I turned to face the coyotes alone. I walked toward them.

  “I am not a coward,” I protested. “I don’t bite because I want to be your friend.”

  The biggest coyote smiled. It looked more like a sneer. “See?” he told his friend. “What did I tell you?”

  “Yeah,” the smaller coyote said. “But he sure is big. I wonder how big he is?”

  The leader pranced right up beside me. He told his friend to jump on his back. Standing, one on top of the other, the two coyotes came up to my shoulders.

  I stood and watched them. “Why have you come? What do you want here?”

  The coyote on top licked his lips. “Two bowls of dog food isn’t enough for ten coyotes. We’re still hungry. We want more.”

  While they were talking, the other four coyotes sneaked around behind me and chased Red and Poky away from my bowl. The coyotes started to eat.

  “I’m sorry you’re hungry,” I said. “But if you eat Red’s food and Poky’s food and my food, then what will we have to eat?”

  “That’s your problem.” The coyote on bottom laughed.

  “But we’ll starve,” I said.

  “So?”

  “So that’s not right.”

  The coyote on top jumped down. “It’s right for us. We take what we want. You dogs got a lot. You got plenty of food and nice houses to sleep in. We got nothin’. We want what you got. We deserve it.”

  “Deserve it? Why?”

  The big coyote moved up beside me. With his shoulder, he shoved me out of the way.

  “We’ve been poor for a long, long time—that’s why! We eat rabbits and mice and lizards and berries. We even have to eat cactus sometimes, and garbage from the trash pile. We deserve better, and we’re going to take it.”

  With that, he shoved me a
gain. I staggered sideways and watched the two coyotes join their friends at my bowl.

  For the next two nights we slept in my yard. The second night was terribly cold, and for the first time in a long, long while we huddled together for warmth.

  The coyotes ate our food. They gobbled it down and laughed. They slobbered and burped. Then they crawled into our warm, cozy doghouses and laughed and talked some more. All the while Poky, Red, and I lay shivering on the cold, cold ground. I never imagined things could get worse.

  Chapter 9

  The growling from our three empty tummies woke us early the next morning. Red struggled to his feet and tried to stretch. Sleeping on the cold ground made him stiffer than ever.

  “We’ve got to do something,” he whimpered. “We’re gonna starve to death if we don’t.”

  Poky got up and shook his curved tail. “What can we do? I’m too little. Sweetie won’t even growl at a fly, much less bite one. You’re too old and scared.”

  “Red’s not scared,” I protested. “He’s a brave dog.”

  “He’s scared,” Poky repeated. “I smelled it.”

  Red slouched. He looked down at the ground, and when he leaned forward, his long red ears covered his eyes.

  “Poky’s right, Sweetie. I am scared. When I was young, I didn’t know enough to be scared. When I was older, I was strong and fast, and I’d chase dogs away from my yard. Even bigger dogs didn’t scare me. It was my yard, and I wasn’t afraid of anything. Now . . .” His tail slipped under his hip and curled around his tummy. “Now I’m afraid. I’m old and weak and sore. I know if I try to take on those coyotes, they’ll hurt me. I hurt enough already, just from being old. I don’t want to hurt any more. They might even kill me.”

  As he talked, that strange but familiar smell came to my nose. It hurt, but at the same time it made me feel big and strong inside. I tilted my head and cocked one ear.

  “Is that what fear smells like?” I asked.

  Red shrugged. “When you’re afraid, you can’t smell fear.”

  Poky sniffed at Red. “That’s the smell of fear!”