On the highway to New Glasgow I passed a dead coyote on the way to the building supply store. And then another. I pulled over and got out of the car. The animal had been dead for awhile and was becoming part of the shoulder. Colour of gravel, dirty crystallized frozen melted snow, brown grass and sun faded trash. “You should not be here, ” I said, crouching down to sadly witness the carcass. As I rose and turned, a sound sensation like locomotive thunder instant of broken teeth, bone in grill and face scraps scraping pavement come and gone faster than the speed of life.
And I was sitting on the edge of a field in coyote heaven.
“You should not be here,” she said, smiling. She stared into my face with her golden eyes, got up, stretched her long, lean body and turned away. A gentle breeze brushing over her fur. “If you want to stay, you can’t be human anymore. People are too careless.”
“Okay. But what should I be?”
“Begin with kind, and see what happens.”
We both laughed, rose again and started across the field.