Coyotes have fascinated humans since we first set foot in North America. We quickly discerned there was something special about them. They were like us - adaptable survivors full of lust, bravado, cunning, and beautiful intelligence. We watched closely as coyotes danced with mischief while trotting into our consciousness. We were mesmerized; we quickly learned that coyotes show us the truth.
Dan Flores, in his book Coyote America, describes coyote power as “surviving by one’s own intelligence and wits when others cannot; embracing existence in a mad, dancing, laughing, sympathetic expression of pure joy at evading the grimmest of fates; exulting in sheer aliveness; recognizing our shortcomings with rueful chagrin.”
Our initial fascination evolved into a love affair as coyotes entered our stories and lives. They became the first deity in North America and were often personified as a trickster. Many stories begin with the phrase “coyote was going along” in recognition of the characteristic loping gate that carries them across the landscape.
This deeply felt, reverential relationship between people and coyotes lasted for thousands of years. During this time, coyotes had little fear of people, and we lived in close proximity. We shaped coyotes, and they shaped us.
We also shaped the remarkable megafauna in North America. Our hunting contributed to the Pleistocene extinction and the collapse of the giant herbivores and their predators in North America. People and coyotes passed through this bottleneck and entered a new era. Coyotes adapted to this dramatic shift in their prey by becoming smaller, developing molars for grinding up a diverse selection of food, and adopting a flexible lifestyle. Coyotes can live in a pack or as individuals, depending on their circumstances. They live by their wits and are fueled by a relentless curiosity that helps them navigate shifting conditions.
Another big shift occurred in the lives of coyotes when European colonists spread across North America. Coyotes quickly went from being a deity to a villain as we projected our fear, hatred, and need for control onto them.
We tried our best to exterminate them, but coyotes kept going along, trotting across the country and occupying liminal spaces and the night. They are still out there, serenading the stars and occupying our dreams.
Carl Jung is one of many people fascinated by coyotes. He described them as “a faithful copy of an absolutely undifferentiated human consciousness … a forerunner of the savior, and like him God, man, and animal at once. He is both subhuman and superhuman, a bestial and divine being.”
Our relationship with coyotes is a microcosm of our relationship with nature. People visit Yellowstone National Park to observe wolves, coyotes, and bears. At the same time, we are still reflexively killing predators. Our capacity to kill what we love shows that we are full of contradictions, just like coyotes.
Coyotes are secretive in central Illinois, where I live, and I only get brief, tantalizing glimpses of them. They have learned that lingering in the presence of people leads to death.
On a spring morning two years ago, I hiked into the middle of 1,400 acres of woods that border the Mackinaw River. This is our largest wooded area, and when you reach the middle, you feel like you are in a vast forest. It is relatively quiet and secluded. There are no trails, so very few people hike into this spot.
I sat on a log spanning a small clear creek. My feet rested on a gravel bar, and I scanned the woods for movement. A gray streak caught my attention. A coyote was loping along briskly on a deer trail that followed a bench on a side slope above the creek. He was 40 yards away.
I very slowly turned and shifted my weight. My left foot pressed into the gravel, making a soft, subtle shhh sound. The coyote reacted instantly by casting a sidelong glance in my direction, and, most impressive to me, he increased his speed without missing a beat. He quickly disappeared over the ridge and was gone. He seemed more like an apparition than an animal.
For me, the experience brought to life a Native American saying: A feather fell from the sky; the eagle saw it, the deer heard it, and the bear smelled it. Coyote did all three.
Another close encounter with a coyote occurred at a nature preserve south of our town. I rounded a corner on a hiking trail and saw what I thought was a dog digging in the prairie. I could only see soil flying and his tail up in the air. I raised my camera right as he walked out of the prairie and came down the trail toward me. When he appeared in the open, my mind registered several impressions in quick succession. Dog – coyote – dog – flashed through my mind. He was the color of a coyote but much bigger, and his proportions were unusual. His face, legs, eyes, and shape of his body were different from a coyote.
He did not see me at first, and he kept coming closer. My curiosity and fascination began to mix with fear. He stopped at 10 yards, looked at me, and quickly turned and vanished into the prairie. I had just seen a coyote hybrid. Coyotes freely hybridize with dogs and wolves. This is part of the way they shape-shift and adapt. They are part of a fluid canine presence on the landscape.
Close to home in our neighborhood park, encounters with coyotes are rare but happen occasionally. Walking down the main trail early in the morning, I noticed a distinctly alive, round shade curled up in the leaf litter. Two pointy ears and bright yellow eyes peered out of a fluffy gray and orange fur ball. The coyote was napping and clearly visible from the main trail.
He quickly discerned that I saw him and had stopped. I stood still. He got up and moved behind a shrub. He seemed nonchalant; I saw him yawn and scratch his belly. He took a few more steps and stood behind a tree trunk. I could make out his muzzle sticking out behind the trunk.
He turned and walked back to the shrub and looked around. After 30 seconds or so, he decided to depart. He took off on a fast run, cut across the trail, and disappeared onto private property.
An encounter with a coyote is an invitation to a conversation. Coyotes have many lessons to teach us. Foremost among them is the need to see the divine in others. Coyotes embody the resilience inherent in nature, and weaving our lives back into the lives of coyotes would make us stronger. We have drifted off course, and coyotes are calling us home.
How long before we realize that the essence of the coyote is the essence of nature? It is timeless, venerable, ever-changing, and without end. Coyotes will be going along, adapting, and thriving whatever the future brings.
A long time ago, humans came into being and loved the world. They loved the springtime with the beautiful emerging green plant life. They loved the summer, a time of berries and growth. As autumn came, the nights became colder, and the humans shivered. The children and elders would die from the cold. Winter was a hard time.
One day, Coyote wandered by the human village. He could hear the wailing of the humans as they mourned their loved ones who had died in the cold of winter. Spring was finally coming, and Coyote heard an old one say, “Feel the warmth of the sun. If only we could have such warmth in the winter to heat our teepees.” Coyote was not of the People and had no need for fire, but he felt sorry for the men and women who were sad about the others who had died.
Coyote knew three Fire Beings lived on the top of a far mountain. These Fire Beings hoarded the fire and would not share it with others. Coyote crept to the mountain to see how the Fire Beings guarded the fire. Coyote watched the Fire Beings for many days. He watched as the fire was fed with dry things from the land, like pine cones and twigs. He watched how the Fire Beings took turns guarding the fire one at a time at night while the others slept.
Coyote returned to the mountain to speak to his friends among the People. He told them of the shivering, hairless humans and their need for fire. He told them of the selfish Fire Beings and their inability to share. He asked his friends among the People to help him. Squirrel, Chipmunk, Frog, and Wood all offered to help Coyote bring fire to the humans.
Coyote crept back up the mountain. As the Fire Beings were changing the guard for the fire, Coyote leaped up to the fire and took a burning coal. Immediately, he turned and ran down the mountain. The Fire Beings flew after him, clawing to try and get the fire back. One Being touched the tip of Coyote’s tail, which has since always been white.
Coyote threw the fire, and Squirrel caught it. The coal touched his back, and his tail has been arched since then. Then Squirrel threw the ember to Chipmunk, who froze in fear. Finally, he turned and ran. A Fire Being clawed his back, giving him white stripes forever. Chipmunk threw the burning coal to Frog, who turned and ran. One of the Fire Beings grabbed the Frog’s tail, but Frog jumped and tore free; thus, he had no tail. The Fire Beings came at Frog again, and Frog flung the coal at Wood.
Wood kept the coal safe, but the Fire Beings could not figure out how to get the coal from Wood. They yelled at Wood, they sang to Wood, they even promised presents to Wood, but Wood did not give up the coal. Finally, the Fire Beings returned to the mountain and left the People alone, assuming that if they could not release the coal, neither could the People.
Coyote took Wood to the human village and showed them how to get fire from Wood. He took two sticks and rubbed them together. Then he spun a sharpened stick in a hole in another piece of wood. Fire came to the humans, and they were never cold again.