We’ve been having some coyote drama here of late. The story is familiar all over the Midwest — after years, perhaps a century or more, of never seeing a coyote anywhere but a cowboy movie, the critters are turning up in the suburbs and sometimes not the suburbs at all, as when a pregnant female was found trotting the streets of downtown Detroit a year or two ago. The reporter from the local Fox affiliate about peed his pants squealing about the coyote who came in from “the wild.” He kept repeating the phrase, right through his happy ending, in which the animal was released in Oakland County, i.e., “back into the wild.”
Anyway, they’re well-established in Grosse Pointe now, drawn by the same factors that lure rich people — wide-open spaces, access to clean water and plenty to eat. Unfortunately, one of the things they’ve been eating of late is cats and dogs — killing them, anyway — and this! Can! Not! Stand! So the police are hunting them with shotguns and have already killed one. They, the police, hunt the same time the coyotes do, at dawn and dusk, and try to get a clean shot between the people who like to walk their Labs and Goldens in the area at the same time.
I’m of two minds. Well, no, not really. I’m sympathetic to people who’ve lost their pets, really I am, but on the other hand all that’s going to happen in the long run is, some coyotes will be shot and more will move in, and that will be that.
One of the police chiefs speculated the coyotes moved in during a cold snap a couple of years ago, when they “crossed the ice from Harsen’s Island.” (The geography in question, for the unfamiliar.) Alan scoffed when I told him this and said, “Or else they came up Jefferson Avenue.” That’s approximately what I suggested to the police chief, too. I’m always amazed at how even people who like to think of themselves as outdoorsy don’t really know all that much about it, and I include myself in that number. One of the things I find most interesting about this crazy place is how feral it is, from the plant life to the mammals. I wonder how many feral pit bulls have joined up with coyote gangs in Detroit. Plump pheasant, squirrel too numerous to count, endless prairie joined by easily trottable paved roads? Life would be a dream sh-boom.
I haven’t seen one yet. I’m rarely abroad when the coyotes are, so I have to live through others’ sightings, and what they tell me — the coyote who flew across Lake Shore Road in a couple of strides and then leaped the wall around the Ford House like it was little more than a low hedge, etc. My secret: I’m kind of glad the police are on a fool’s errand. There’s enough domestication in the world.
Bloggage? Not much:
I guess everyone has seen the Wienie Roast Bomber’s undies by now. Tell me, how are full-body scans going to catch this? The explosive was sewn up tight in the crotch. I think the next step in airport security is going to be one of those sniffing machines; we had to go through them before being admitted to the Statue of Liberty a couple of years ago. Each turn took about 15 seconds. Multiply by the number of people on your flight, and have a nice day.
Here’s an interview with David Simon. I haven’t read it yet. Don’t I already know enough about this guy? Nevertheless, I salute anyone willing to give this much time to a pesky reporter.
Off to the shower with me. This is my to-do list today:
That beer isn’t going to drink itself. Have a good one, all.