Each evening from the start of dusk, we listen to coyotes by the hundreds begin their nightly routine. They start with a few lone howls, follow with a busy chorus, and culminate with a shrill cacophony reminiscent of the raucous cheers at large sporting venues.  They walk through their days and nights confident, healthy and robust, unafraid of their environment or the people with which they share it. Accompanying the night songs of the coyotes are countless other tunes.  The Sonoran desert is never quiet, no matter the time of day or night, providing an amazing accompaniment to life.  Toads sound off, creatures scuffle, horses whinny, owls hoot, sheep and goats bah.  But it is the coyote that rules the night and dominates its dark soundtrack.

I am fascinated by the coyotes, smart and swift, cunning and resourceful.  They, along with raccoons, are one of the few animals that have enlarged their territory since humans decided to take over the continent.  Their adaptable nature, varied diet, and physical transformability have made them common sightings from the Desert Southwest to far northeastern New England and Canada, despite the fact that only 5-20 % of the pups survive to adulthood.  An urban coyote (an estimated 2000 live in the Chicago area) will usually live longer than their wilder counterparts due to the plentiful availability of rodents on which to dine and are welcomed by many inner city park workers because of their ability to keep the animal population in control. 

Here in the desert, we see them often, which is a testament to how large their population has become.  They scurry through the washes and rest in the shade under the scrub and low trees that border our property.  Although they are camouflaged well, if we observe carefully, we can sometimes watch them raise their noses to the sky and begin their songs to each other.  Their interrupted howl announces their presence to the other coyotes in the area and perhaps to us as well.  I am here; don’t mess with me or my woman (they mate for life); return my call so I know where you are as well.  In the spring and fall when the pups are born and when those same pups leave the family, yips and yelps fill the air with celebration and conflict.  When the den is threatened, a protective bark warns away outsiders, and when a mom needs to call her pups, a quiet huff does the job.

Coyotes can mate with dogs and wolves, though in the wild, differing estrus cycles make that difficult.  A coyote/dog cross is called a coydog.  Our little brown mutt, Millie, uncannily resembles a coyote in her body structure and carriage, and, if it wasn’t for her short chocolate brown hair, she would be a near-exact match.

The plentiful coyote has inspired many references throughout our culture and that of the Native Americans.  In mythology, he is the trickster, the antagonist to the wiser brother wolf, and, in the creation myth, the creator of the first people that kicks a ball of mud until it forms a person.  In more modern times, he serves as mascot to our own hockey team, unsuccessful captor of the very fast Road Runner, and (my favorite) the spirit guide to Homer Simpson on his peyote trip through the desert, eloquently voiced by the late Johnny Cash.  He has also inspired misogynist phrases for irresponsible men waking up beside less desirable partners as in “coyote ugly,” describing these men who would rather gnaw off their arm than wake their what-was-I-thinking drunken paramour.  I am not crazy about this one.

Life here in the desert would be a lot less interesting without our song dogs.  I love their sounds and their up to 40 mph swiftness.  I love their unbridled wildness, their devil-may-care attitude.  Though they are a threat to our animals at times, I'm glad they're here.  They'll remain long after I'm gone, surviving and adapting and going with that Sonoran Desert flow.

Photo courtesy of Madeleine Ball and savethecoyote.org.  Support your local animal rescue organizations.  I do.