We are plunged into darkness, as if these cloudy, overcast
days weren’t dark enough. Daylight savings time. Whose brilliant idea was that?
Random, very faint snowflakes fall haphazardly from the sky. It would be easy
to miss them, they’re so tiny.
Last night, I woke at exactly 2 a.m. to the sound of coyote
frolicking very near the cabin. Their excited yips and barks were loud and made
me think of laughter. I smiled to myself, threw another log in the wood stove,
and snuggled back into my fleece sheets.
Fifteen minutes later, I heard my dog yard explode. Miles is
the alarmist. On the edge of the beginning of the dog yard, nothing gets by his
keen ears and he is quick to bark to warn the others of any activity. First, I
heard Miles, then all the dogs began barking. There are several types of barks,
and this was definitely a hackles-raised kind of bark. One of my females is in
standing heat right now, and I worried that Mr. Coyote might try to breed her.
I was just about to hop into my truck with a headlamp and a leash and go
retrieve the female in heat, when as suddenly as it began, the barking stopped.
Yesterday, I spent the afternoon with Bob and Jan Shaw. Bob
never tires of teasing me. He is jovial, with a pot belly and a fuzzy gray
beard that gives him a Santa look that is endearing. His blue eyes sparkle with
mirth. He began showing me pictures his trail cam had taken from his hunting
cache, mostly funny stills of portly raccoons in mid-heist, and black bears.
One series of photos left a lasting impression, however. Bob
had found a large roadkill deer and dragged it back into the woods in the last
month to get it off the main road. He set the trail camera on the carcass, and
the slideshow that followed was an eerie illustration of how handy nature
cleans up after herself. A flock of turkey vultures descended on the carcass,
stupidly unaware that they were being filmed in their decadent feast. One large
bird seemed to look right into the camera, as if to pose, its large red face
blank and expressionless.
A flock of raven then appeared. Within just two or three
frames, the raven had skillfully peeled back the hide of the carcass, exposing the deer’s
large rib cage ominously.
The next frame showed a large, beautiful coyote standing at
attention next to the carcass. Its fluffy mane and strong stature made it look
regal. In several frames, Coyote appeared startled, cautious – perhaps he’d
heard the “click” of the trail cam going off. The temptation of the carcass was
too much, and soon, he was gorging himself: first sharp canine teeth visibly
tearing into a hind leg, then diving into the belly of the deer.
The last clip from the deer carcass series made the hair
rise on the back of my neck. Throughout probably 20 slides, the deer was shown
in various stages of decomposition. But, quite suddenly, on the last slide, the
entire deer carcass disappeared. There was no evidence that the carcass had
ever been there; not a trace remained, only the backdrop of conifers on a floor
of pine needles and orange leaves that had once cradled the deer's lifeless body.
Nature is indifferent. She does what she does – whether it
is hurricanes or carrion – apathetically and matter-of-factly. She cares not. And we animals do what we
must to survive. Even if it means carrying off whole carcasses to feed our
families.
Anyone who feels that nature intently focuses on us, stalks
us, or even cares one way or the other about us humans is a fool.
