It was the time of day that photographers and prairie dwellers love; just before sunset, when the light is long and low and golden.
Coming from behind, the sunshine made a grey grosgrain ribbon of the highway as I drove home from work. There was a flicker of movement, and I slowed as a coyote loped across the road.
Food must have been plentiful this year, because its coat was thick and even. That celebrated evening light showed a gamut of greys and blondes and browns on its body. The animal bounded past traffic and into a stubble field, where it was quickly camouflaged.
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It was a pleasure to see this tawny hunter, the more so because a job in the city affords minimal contact with the animal kingdom compared to life on the ranch. Back there, the sight of coyotes, deer, skunks and other critters was commonplace. It was an enjoyable part of farm life, but one generally taken for granted.
So, I took this recent coyote sighting during my commute as a signal that nature was keeping its balance and that even close to an urban centre, wildlife could thrive. It was a “God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world” sort of moment.
I saw the coyote again one week later, this time in the morning. The car radio was telling horrific news of shootings at an Amish school in Pennsylvania. Clearly, all was not right with the world that day.
Again, the light was long and low. The sun had just cleared the horizon. And once again, I slowed to look.
The coyote was dead; crumpled at the roadside, mouth locked in rictus. Its coat was still beautiful and the light showed its colours, but the lustre of life was gone.
Upset by this stark reminder of nature’s fragility and man’s ability to damage it, I thought all day about that coyote.
I dwelled on it a little too much, to tell you the truth, which was puzzling. It’s not as though roadkill is unusual or that this case was particularly grisly.
For those who grow up on a farm, animal life and death is part of the usual cycle. One learns early that nature is both beautiful and cruel. Wildlife comes and goes. Food animals, plentiful and useful, are raised to be just that. Twenty years ago, I wouldn’t have given that coyote carcass a second thought.
Maybe the incident gave me an inkling about the emotions that empower urban-based animal protectionists. Helpless as the rest of us in the face of human folly, their contact with animals is rare. The emotions attached to their pets are projected onto all animals, wild and domestic, food or fauna.
Though we who know the stories of farm animals will never be part of the rabid protectionist faction, maybe we can someday understand it better.
