The Three Legged Coyote

Thick winter snow covered the ground in the community of Keswick on the River. The brand new residential development had sprouted in the midst of former farmland located on the outskirts of the city. Large, modern homes rose around alleys and decorative fountains, carefully wrapped for protection from the harsh winter. The beautiful man-made pond in the center of the neighbourhood had been transformed into a small ice skating arena for the entertainment of young families. Outdoor fire pits and Christmas lights heated up the otherwise frozen landscape. Only three estate homes remained unfinished on the very edge of the subdivision. Their windows faced the vast river valley, now sleeping under a blanket of snow interspersed with the lifeless frames of dried up trees and shrubs.

Thunder, the three legged coyote, emerged from the river valley and stood still facing the unfinished estates. He tried to intercept the bitter, frosty wind with his nose in hopes of detecting the scent of discarded chicken bones or perhaps a leftover potato salad. Last winter he had learned that tipping over a single compost bin could fill his belly. It was faster and more efficient than a day spent digging into the soil in search of frozen berries. The only danger with that technique was that the humans did not like it. They stomped their feet and growled at him every time he crossed their path. They didn’t want their compost bins overturned and got especially angry if a coyote came close to one of their dogs.

Thunder had learned to live near the humans ever since the tragic day when he had lost his leg. It happened two years ago after the advance of the Keswick development pushed him out of his usual fields and into the river valley, the territory of the cougar. One morning, while chasing a wild hare, Thunder came face to face with his predator. Seeing Thunder alone and unprepared, the cougar cornered him against a large rock. No amount of howling or snares succeeded in scaring him away. The cougar was angry and desperate to force the invader out of his turf. He dove and bit into Thunder’s front leg, ripping it off with his powerful jaw and plunging his teeth into his neck next. Thunder tried to fight back but the loss of blood and the excruciating pain rendered him helpless. Just as he was about to succumb to his attacker, the noise of a group of humans reached the cougar’s ears. He got scared, abandoned everything and ran to hide himself in the forest. Thunder, tattered and crippled, managed to get up and drag his body back to his hiding spot. He survived because it was summer and wild berries were still abundant. By the time winter came he learned to scavenge the carcasses left over by his friends. His neck wound healed and his leg stopped bleeding and became a short stump that swayed awkwardly back and forth with each hop he made on his three remaining legs.

Thunder’s nose trembled, as he picked up the odor of something delicious. It was garbage day in Keswick and the bins were staged out in front of the homes. Just as he was about to make his way towards them, two humans came around the corner on the path surrounding the estates and forced him to retreat behind the shrubs. They didn’t notice him. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye he spotted a patch of white fur, a pink nose and a pair of long naked ears. His stomach churned and the memory of his hunting days lit up like a flash in his mind. He crouched down and in a split second launched himself in the direction of the wild hare. He ran as fast as he could, trampling over snow and piercing through the dead shrubs. He felt the frigid air stream past his whiskers like in the olden days when he was on the verge of grasping his prey. He tensed all the muscles in his body, bared his teeth in anticipation and hopped right in the spot where the hare had been, only to find it empty. The rabbit had long disappeared into the forest.

“Did you see that crippled coyote limping through the snow?” one of the human voices travelled across the field. “How sad is that!”

Thunder heard the humans make noises and he crouched down again. He was panting, his eyes and nose wet from the chase. He glanced down and licked his stumpy leg, trying to lessen the pain. Two years ago he could not have imagined that the humans would have chosen to move here. The cold made their eyelashes freeze in the winter and the sun shone all night through their windows in the summer. Still they had built their large estates, paved their pathways and erected their fences. They were capable of taking over any kingdom.

The white patch of fur trembled once again in Thunder’s periphery. He knew it was there. He could sense it but he had no strength left. His heart was still racing. He couldn’t afford to waste any more energy. He waited for the humans to disappear around the corner, then got up and followed the faint scent of food down the path towards the place where the garbage bins were staged.