Watchdog and the Coyotes

by Bill Wallace

Light flooded the yard.

  “What’s all the racket? Get out of here!” My master screamed as he threw open the back door. “Get away from there, you stinkin’ coyotes.”

  In a blink of an eye, the coyotes scattered. A couple ran for the holes on either side of the yard. Most jumped the back fence and went slinking off into the desert.

  As the three of us lay panting and whimpering in the yard, my master went back inside and got a flashlight. I could tell that he wondered what Poky and Red were doing in my yard. He didn’t ask. Instead, when he came out again, he checked to see how bad our injuries were. Poky, Red, and I each licked his hand and thanked him for saving our lives.

  We were bleeding and hurt, but our wounds were not serious. My master went back inside his house. Poky, Red, and I huddled in my big doghouse and licked our wounds.

  “They’ll be back,” Poky said. “We don’t stand a chance.”

  I licked the cut on my paw. “We do stand a chance,” I assured my friend. “My master scared them. He will watch to make sure they don’t come back.”

  Red sniffed. He had a big cut on his nose where one of the coyotes had sunk his fangs in. “He won’t watch forever. When the coyotes think it’s safe, and when your master’s no longer watching for them, they’ll come back. Next time there may be even more coyotes. Your master may not always be here to protect us.”

  I licked my paw again. “Then we must learn to protect ourselves,” I said. “It’s been so long since I have barked or bitten that I’ve forgotten how. Tomorrow we go into training.”

  “What’s training?” Poky whimpered as he tried to lick the cut on his neck.

  “We’re gonna get in shape. My first master in California used to run and lift weights and do exercises. It was to make him look pretty for the big little girls, but it also made him stronger. That’s what we’re going to do.”

  • • •

  Before our masters woke in the morning, Red and Poky went back to their yards. They dug two new holes, right in the center of the yard by the fence. Sure enough, when my master told their masters about Red and Poky being in my yard last night, they came to investigate.

  Since the new holes were in plain sight, they used shovels to put the dirt back. They never bothered to look for the other hole on Red’s side of the fence or the broken boards at the back of Poky’s yard.

  As soon as they left, I started our training.

  Since the coyotes had stolen all our bones, I sent Poky for supplies. His master’s son had left a softball, a bat, and a basketball in the yard.

  Poky’s hind legs were stiff because the coyotes had tried to make a wishbone out of him, but he brought the things back to my yard.

  Red and I took turns biting and gnawing on the baseball bat. Poky chewed the softball. Picking it up in his mouth, he would bite down as hard as he could. Then he would shake it and throw it high in the air. The second it landed, he would chase after it and bite it again.

  I chased the basketball. I tried to bite it, but it was just a little too big for me to get my mouth around. I chased it, nonetheless. I tried to pin it against the corner of the fence, and if it got away from me, I chased it some more.

  Each night we slept in my doghouse. Each evening, before bed, we practiced our growling and snarling. We took turns snapping at each other, too. We wouldn’t snap hard, but it was good practice at moving our nose or paw before it got bitten.

  At first light we tumbled out of the doghouse. We ran twenty laps, one behind the other, around my big backyard. After biting practice, we played chase.

  Red grumped and complained about his arthritis. He didn’t like all the running, but he knew he needed to get in shape. With each day that passed, he could run longer and farther before he got tired.

  Poky wasn’t as fast as Red and I were. He was quick, though. Just as one of us would close in on him during the chase game, he would dodge to the side or double back. My big, long legs carried me so fast that once I stepped on him. Gamely, the beagle jumped up and shook himself. Then he and Red chased me.

  A week passed, and no coyotes.

  All three of us felt much better. Without the coyotes, there was plenty of food. Our tummies were full. Our wounds had healed. We felt stronger with the passing of each day.

  • • •

  Then, late one night, the coyotes howled in the desert.

  Poky trembled. He scooted closer against my side in my doghouse. “I knew they’d be back.”

  Red raised his head. “Maybe we should go out and bark at them. We could tell them how strong we are now. We could warn them not to come back. If we do that, maybe they won’t bother us.”

  I didn’t answer him. My tail made a thumping sound on the floor of my doghouse.

  “They are way off in the desert,” Poky said, still shoving himself against my side. “They probably won’t come until tomorrow night.”

  • • •

  The next day, it was training as usual. Red didn’t grump about running laps. Poky bit the ball harder than he ever had before. I chased the big basketball around and around and around. If I could just . . .

  Blamb!

  Poky and Red were getting a drink. Both wheeled around.

  With a smug grin on my face, I came trotting toward them. A limp, flat basketball hung from my mouth. I dropped it at my friends’ feet.

  “I think we’re ready,” I said.

  • • •

  That night the coyotes howled again. My master and his wife drove away in their car. Where they went, I didn’t know. I did know there was no one to keep watch. There was no one to turn on the light. There was no one to protect us but us.

  A little after dark we heard the coyotes jump over the fence into Poky’s yard. They laughed and burped as they ate his food.

  “Shouldn’t we go get ’em?” Poky asked.

  I didn’t answer.

  A nose poked through the broken boards in the fence. The coyote sneered and looked around. I lay in the opening of my doghouse, resting my chin on my paws. The coyote disappeared, and we could hear them jumping the back fence into Red’s yard.

  When I heard them munching on the table scraps and the bones, I turned to Red. “Now,” I whispered.

  Red climbed over me and raced across the yard. He hid in the dark behind one of the shrubs. I turned to Poky.

  “Now.”

  Poky started to climb over me, but then he stopped. “You’re not going to try to reason with them again, are you? You do remember how to bite?”

  I smiled. “Now,” I repeated.

  Poky trotted quietly across the yard and hid in the dark by his fence.

  After a while, when the coyotes were through joking and laughing and burping and slobbering, one appeared at the hole under the fence.

  He saw me lying in the doghouse. He sneered and slipped through the fence. Another followed.

  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven . . . Twelve coyotes slipped through the opening.

  I crawled out of my doghouse. The coyotes came up and formed a circle around me.

  “Where are your buddies?” The big leader licked his lips.

  I didn’t answer.

  “It don’t matter,” he scoffed. “We’ll just eat this one first. Then we can find the other two. They’re probably hiding in the doghouse.”

  I forced the ridge of hair on my back to stay down. I didn’t let my lip curl or my white teeth show.

  “Wouldn’t you rather be friends, Mr. Coyote?”

  All the coyotes laughed and yapped. “Sure,” one said. “We’ll be friends.”

  “Yeah,” another added, “just as soon as we’re through eating you, we’ll be the best of friends.”

  The big coyote trotted right up in my face. He snarled at me and showed his long fangs. “Why don’t you just lie down, big boy? Make it a little easier on us.” His nose was almost touching mine.

  “Well, Mr. Coyote,” I said softly. “If you don’t want to be friends. Then . . .”

&n
bsp; The big coyote’s eyes flashed wide. All he could see was the empty cavern of my throat when I opened my mouth. I bit down as hard as I could.

  The coyote’s whole head was inside my huge jaws. When I let go, the coyote fell backwards. He tumbled over himself a couple of times. He landed on his back with his feet flopping in the air. Dazed, he finally managed to crawl to his feet.

  His eyes rolled around in his face. He shook his head. Slobbers went flying all over the other coyotes.

  “Did you see that?” he gasped. “He almost bit my head off.” His eyes rolled again. “Man, talk about a headache!”

  I took a deep breath and in my loudest roar I screamed:

  “Charge!”

  Chapter 13

  Before the other coyotes knew what was happening, I flew into them. Poky and Red charged, growling and snarling, out of the dark shadows at the corners of my yard.

  Red knocked one coyote down. The coyote rolled about three times from the force of Red’s powerful legs. Then Red bit another coyote on the back. Poky leaped at the coyote nearest him. Poky was small, but he did give the coyote a terrible bite, right on his soft tummy. The coyote squalled and fell over on his side.

  With my mighty jaws I bit one, then another. With my big paws, I clunked a coyote on top of the head. I hit him with such force that the coyote fell spread-eagled to the ground and bumped his chin in the dirt.

  A coyote lunged for Poky. Just as he had practiced in the chase game, Poky dodged out of the way. Before the coyote could turn, the beagle circled around behind him and chomped down on the coyote’s leg. Squealing at the top of his lungs, the coyote raced across the yard, dragging Poky behind him.

  One coyote jumped the fence. Then another and another.

  Red chased one, snapping at his rump every step of the way. The coyote tried to jump the fence. But he was trying so hard to get away from Red’s fierce jaws that he jumped a bit too soon. He didn’t quite make it.

  There was a loud crack as the coyote’s head slammed into the fence. It broke a chunk of wood out. The coyote bounced off the fence and went flying backwards over Red. Before he could scramble to his feet, the Irish setter bit him once on the ear and once, really hard, on the nose. Running for his life, the coyote had to circle the yard again before he could get up enough speed to jump the fence. He made it this time. But he was in such a hurry that he scraped his tummy on the fence and left a whole bunch of hair stuck to the boards.

  Through the broken-off chunk in the fence, I could see him. Tail tucked between his legs, he slinked off into the desert.

  Suddenly all was quiet.

  Red turned to help his friends. Poky was nowhere in sight and I didn’t need any help.

  Only one coyote was left—the big one who usually did all the talking. He lay in the middle of the yard. I stood over him, smiling. With my big paws, I pinned him to the ground.

  “Please let me up,” the coyote whined. “Please don’t hurt me. Please let me go.”

  I ignored him. When Red came trotting over, I winked. “What do you think we should do with this coyote?”

  Red winked back at me.

  “Let’s eat him for supper.”

  The coyote whimpered. Terrified, he kicked his feet and struggled to get up. It took hardly any effort at all for me to hold him down. The smell of his fear was so strong that it burned my nose. It almost made my eyes water.

  Suddenly I began to wonder why Poky wasn’t with us. I looked around. A bit nervous, scared that something bad might have happened to my friend, I was just about to let go of the coyote and search for Poky when another coyote shot through the broken boards on Poky’s side of the fence.

  “Would you look at him?” I told Red.

  The coyote raced across the yard. He whimpered and yapped and squalled every step of the way. And there, behind him, was Poky—still holding on to his hind leg and flopping like a flag waving in the breeze.

  The coyote shot through the hole into Red’s yard.

  “Poky,” I called, “let go of that coyote and come over here.”

  Poky didn’t answer. In a moment or two the coyote shot back through the hole under the fence, headed in the other direction. The beagle still clung to his leg as he crawled through the boards into Poky’s yard.

  “Poky,” Red called, “let go of him and come here.”

  Again there was no answer.

  Yapping and screaming and crying, the coyote—with the beagle still hanging on to his leg—raced back and forth between the two holes in the fence about five times.

  Finally Red turned to me.

  “Reckon I should go get him?”

  I shrugged my ears. “Guess so. If you don’t, he’ll keep chewing on that poor coyote’s leg all night.”

  The big coyote—the one that I was holding down—tried to slip free. I bopped him on the head with my paw.

  “Be still!”

  Red trotted to the hole in Poky’s fence. This time, as the coyote came slipping through, Red leaned down and caught ahold of Poky’s tail.

  “Let go of me!” Poky growled. “I’m gonna chew this guy’s leg off.”

  It was a bit hard to understand him because he had a mouthful of coyote leg.

  Red didn’t let go. He held on to Poky’s tail. The coyote stopped. With Poky hanging on to his leg and Red hanging on to Poky, the coyote tried to run, but he couldn’t. He kept jerking and struggling to get away.

  It reminded me of a tug-of-war game. Red on one side, the coyote on the other. And Poky was the rope. The beagle was stretched out between the two bigger animals. His feet dangled about six inches off the ground.

  “Let go, Poky!” Red growled. “He’s had enough.”

  It was a bit hard to understand Red because he had a mouthful of beagle tail.

  Finally, Poky released his grip. Still crying, the coyote limped for the back of the yard. His leg must have really hurt, because it took him three jumps before he finally got over the fence. Then he whimpered and limped off into the darkness.

  Red licked Poky right on top of the head. “Good job. You really showed him.”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  With his head held high on one end and his tail sticking up high on the other, Poky came prancing across the yard.

  All three of us glared down at the large coyote—the one with the big mouth.

  “What are we gonna do with this one?” Poky asked.

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  “I think we should eat him.” Red winked again.

  The big coyote struggled, helpless to get up. “Oh, please, please,” he begged. “Don’t eat me.”

  “You ate all our food,” Poky growled. “Now we don’t have anything to eat for supper. We’ll have to eat you.”

  Red tilted his head to the side. He sniffed. “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “If he tastes half as bad as he smells, he would probably make us sick.” He made a snorting sound and wrinkled his nose.

  “He’s right!” the coyote pleaded. “I do stink. Besides that, I’m tough and stringy. You guys wouldn’t like me at all.”

  I smiled at my friends. “I think Poky is right. Even if this coyote does stink, and even if he is a little tough, let’s eat him. I’ll hold him down and you guys go ahead. After all, it was your food that he ate.”

  The big coyote cried and whined and wiggled. “Wait,” he begged. “Let’s talk this over. Let’s be friends.”

  “Oh,” I snarled. “So now you want to be friends?”

  The big coyote whimpered and cried and squalled. We looked down at him. We couldn’t keep from sneering at the coward.

  Finally I leaned over and picked him up by the tail. He dangled, limply from my mouth. I was so tall that he didn’t even touch the ground when I trotted across the yard.

  At the back fence I stopped. I aimed with my left eye. With one jerk of my head, I flung the coyote skyward.

  He went sailing high up in the air. His feet churned. His tail spun.

 
; Suddenly I realized that was his rear spinning, not his tail. My eyes crossed as I looked down my snout. His tail still dangled from my mouth.

  “Oops,” I mumbled. “Musta forgot to let go.”

  The coyote flew so high into the sky that he almost seemed to touch the silver-white moon. Then he came crashing down.

  There was a loud clank from the other side of the fence. We moved closer and peeked through the cracks between the boards. The big coyote had landed in a trash can. There was more clanking and rattling as the coyote struggled to get out. The trash can finally tipped over. Covered with lettuce, sour milk, used tissues, and all sorts of stinky, yucky stuff, the big coyote came crawling out.

  If he’d had his tail, he would have tucked it under him. As it was, he tucked his bottom and went slinking off into the desert. I knew we’d never see the coyotes, ever again.

  Chapter 14

  Red was a little sore and stiff for a couple of days. Poky went around coughing and spitting and complaining about how bad coyotes tasted. I couldn’t help but notice the little twinkle in his eye each time he griped about it, though.

  For the next three weeks life was calm and peaceful. We played together when our masters were at work. At night we either slept together in my big doghouse or enjoyed the peace and quiet of sleeping alone in our own yards.

  Then one afternoon I heard a rattling sound at my back gate. The hair bristled in a sharp ridge down my back. My muscles tightened.

  I watched.

  A man opened the gate and peeked in. He wore a black stocking cap. Without a sound I eased to my feet. I had to lean down to see out of my doghouse because I was so tall that my head almost touched the ceiling. The man shut the gate behind him and started across my yard. Then his eyes fell on my huge house. He must have seen me watching. Suddenly he froze. He didn’t move, he didn’t tremble, he didn’t even breathe.

  I eased through the doorway and walked on stiff legs toward him.

  As I neared, he held out one hand, offering his knuckles for me to sniff. Although he wore a black cap like the burglar, he was not the same man. His face was different, and his smell was not the same as that of the thief who had come in the night.