One of the many true joys of living in the country is the opportunity to observe wildlife on a daily basis. Every morning, turkey vultures circle a wide, meandering path across our small valley in search of breakfast. A mating pair of mallards return every spring to our pond—whether they are successful of not, I never know. They are extremely good at hiding their young.
Wild turkeys, usually several mothers and a slew of their fuzzy chicks, pass through our backyard and are often heard nesting in the trees across the road at night. We yodel-call out to them, and they immediately call back, slightly alarmed at whatever it was we said.
Killdeer and deer hide their young in the tall grasses, worrying my husband as he mows our first cutting of hay. I love the killdeer, especially, with their silly stick legs and frenetic acts to distract us from their nests. The swallows and redwing blackbirds swoop all over the meadow, catching bugs and grabbing tufts of wool from our sheep.
We rarely see black bears, although we know they are around from neighborhood sightings and evidence of their visits. Porcupines and bald eagles are fun to see, although I worry for my dogs (who love to challenge the porcupines) and chickens on pasture.
Hawks, hummingbirds, and rabbits have made a bit of a comeback in recent years, perhaps as a result of our guardian dogs pushing back predators like foxes.
And then there are the coyotes. We hear them in the evenings, their laughing, chaotic yips echoing and bouncing off the hills. On the edge of our little valley, it is often hard to pinpoint exactly where they are, perhaps because there are two or more groups calling to one another on all sides of us.
Sadly, we recently lost an older goat to a coyote. My husband, Peter, observed the animal running amongst our sheep and goats one early evening and chased it off. The next night, while Peter and I attended our youngest daughter’s prom “grand march” at school, our eldest daughter Harper kept an eye on the farm. In a matter of minutes, the lone coyote had managed to grab the older goat by the neck, wounding her severely. The rest of the herd, 150 adults and babies included, chased the coyote away while they formed a tight cluster around their wounded companion.
Harper sicced our dogs on the coyote, chasing it off far into the woods. Unfortunately, there was little she could do for the goat. Both dogs came back 20 minutes later, having rolled themselves in what I can only assume in coyote dung. Good grief.
The next evening, hubby Peter sat with a .22 in wait for the coyote. Like clockwork, the animal reappeared at the same time, ready to try again. Peter took a shot, but believed he may have only grazed the animal’s rear end.
We’ve waited for him or her every evening since, ready this time to defend our animals. There has been no bold reappearance, but I’m sure that the coyote is watching us, waiting for the right moment. Knowing the coyote is out there is a good reminder that we are not the only ones doing the observing!