Driving Through Fields At Night

The gunshots were loud and many. Bop. Bop bop bop bop....bop. They resounded through the dark night in the small farming town like a revolution was just getting underway. The phone rang. It was the man with the gun, the man who lived next door. "We were attacked by coyotes," he said. "They got almost all of my chickens, and my dog is missing. Can you please look for my dog?" And then the line went dead.

I slowly put on my shoes and walked outside into the still night air. The gunshots had stopped. It was quiet. The cicadas were clicking at a low steady hum, but they could be much louder. The coyotes could be anywhere. And it sounded like a large pack. I listened to the dark night. I heard very little. I did not hear the yelping or howling I would expect. I grew up around coyotes and have heard them. The ones that live around here are eerily quiet. And they kill chickens right in your backyard. While you are at home. They are bold. 

I looked into the darkness toward the creek and saw some orange glowing eyes looking back at me. They were much higher than a coyote's would have been. Probably raccoons in a tree. I got in my Jeep quickly and closed and locked the door. Then I turned on the headlamps. Then I turned on the brights. I searched the woods by the creek and saw nothing. I slowly drove the Jeep around by the barn where we kept our chickens. I saw nothing. I stopped with my headlights aimed down a long run of trees that used to be a road from the house to a pond where a kid drowned 50 years ago. Nothing was moving.

I drove around the side of the barn and into the hayfields. I ran my headlights across the half mile long treeline on the edge of the field, half expecting to see a pack of coyotes surrounding the body of my neighbor's dog. Thankfully I saw nothing. The feeling in the fields was eerie. It was a dark, dark night. There was no moon. My kids have seen things out here before. Things that they couldn't explain. Things that were not coyotes. I drove around the outside of the hazelnut grove and looked into the woods and the marsh down the hill, as far as I could see in the low light. I was glad I did not get stuck in the hazels

I followed the same path back to the house through the ankle high hay that I had taken out. It was a winding path. I saw nothing and I was glad that I saw nothing. I went back in the house and locked the doors. Later I learned that my neighbor had found his dog about a quarter mile down the street in the opposite direction from our house, limping. He also found the body of a coyote that he had killed when shooting. They are bad this year. And they are quiet.