For a Nature enthusiast like myself, spotting a wild animal is exciting. If I ever catch something emerging from the shadows of plain sight, I find myself fighting the urge to run and chase it, just to see it up close. I’m not usually afraid to get close to feral animals. As a human, it’s easy to forget that our dominance over nature is an illusion. But Nature is powerful and unforgiving; the greatest of all teachers. And one balmy summer night in Texas, she had a lesson for me.
I was at my parents’ house during a break from college, in the sleepy little town north of Dallas. I was bored - so bored that even sleep bored me. So in the early morning hours, I hopped out of bed, pulled on some clothes, and went outside - hoping to find something interesting. As silently as my feet would allow, I slipped into the garage and opened the huge metal door to the outside. It opened slowly, clanging and moaning as its motor dragged it upward. Finally it stopped, and the fluorescent lights from inside the garage spilled out. They were an affront to the night’s dark elegance - a false, manufactured brightness. So I shut them off, and ventured into the street.
With only one streetlight to guide me, the street was dark and eerie. It should have been enough to just take a casual stroll, but I was feeling mischievous. So I walked. Several houses away, a turned corner or two. Finally, at I distance I estimated to be about 50 meters dead ahead, I caught the silhouette of a four-legged, dog-like creature. Roughly the size of a golden retriever, the dog darted from house to house. Its nose pinned to the ground, tail wagging freely, the dog moved with purpose - no wasted steps; no wasted time.
Being the brilliant young man that I was, I decided to see if I could sneak up on it. I’m human, I told myself. I’m the smarter animal - I can flank this thing, and it’ll never notice. I’ll get a quick picture on my phone, and be done with it. Besides, maybe it’s someone’s pet.
It was on the other side of the street, so I moved across the road. The dog moved further ahead, and I followed, trouncing through people’s lawns as they slept. This game went on for several minutes, until the dog focused his search on one tree. Finally, the damn thing stopped running around.
I crouched behind a mailbox. Has it seen me? I looked carefully. No - still running around sniffing stuff. I looked down for a moment, fighting my cellphone out of my pocket. I returned my gaze upward, and saw the canine in the distance. It had stopped moving, and there was just enough light from somewhere to discern that he was watching me. I’d never seen any living thing so motionless. Perfectly balanced, utterly still, it stood completely frozen in motion. As I rose from my crouched position, it bolted away effortlessly, as if it had never stopped at all.
Whatever. I continued down the street, looking for any sign of the dog and finding none. So I turned back toward home, suddenly aware that I’d traveled further than I’d thought. I thumbed the screen on my phone as I walked, oblivious to the dark world I had so intently sought out.
The house was exactly how I’d left it, though somehow more ominous. The brick frame of the garage was just visible in the moonlight, but the garage opening itself was a void. It was blacker than black, as if light were being absorbed within it. The big aluminum door hung coiled on the ceiling, begging to be closed.
Walking back inside, turning the lights on, I felt how exhausted I was. As I turned to get one final look at the Texas night, I saw something; my chest tightened with fear. Standing outside the garage was a four-foot tall coyote, yellow eyes fixated on mine. I could tell it was the same creature I had chased earlier. It followed me home.
The way that coyote looked at me haunts me to this day. It never violated my territory – never stepped in the garage. It just stood at the edge of the house, its light-yellow fur bathing in the fluorescents, challenging me. I got the sense that it knew I was afraid.
“GET OUT,” I yelled. “GO!”
It didn’t flinch. It didn’t blink. It stared directly into my eyes for another eight, maybe ten seconds, before slowly walking away on its own. Slowly, as if to say, 'I’m leaving on my own terms. I’m not afraid of you, I’m done with you.'
The coyote is one of the most prevalent and important archetypes in Native American folklore. For the most part, they portray the coyote as a mischievous spirit, full of life and highly intelligent. Admonition from the coyote is important, and should be heeded. It’s ironic that on a night when I was looking for mischief, it found me, and warned me to tread lightly. I can’t say I believe that the coyote is my spirit animal (though one could probably do worse as far as spirit animals go), but this coyote certainly taught me a lesson in respect.
