A coyote was
reported to have killed a cat in neighboring Fairmont a couple of nights ago,
and last night one wandered on the prowl in our Berkeley neighborhood. The
south end of Berkeley has a tree-lined creek, and a drainage ditch, with a lot of
shrubbery, runs along the east edge—plenty of habitat for critters. Plus, we’re
so close to the zoo and park, they can wander up from there.
So last night the
Berkeley Buzz reported a coyote coming out of the creek and headed east—far end
of the neighborhood from us, and I thought no more about it. But Jordan came
out in a little bit and closed my patio door as a precaution. At first, I
wanted to tell her about the people-shy nature of coyotes. I doubt one could
breach our fences and gates, and if it did, it certainly would not come
waltzing into the cottage after Sophie. But she was right, of course. The point
was to keep Sophie inside, not the coyote out.
This morning all
is calm, with no report of the predator.
I’m always a bit
on a watch for predators in the neighborhood. Four chickens live behind me in a
large pen and a coop made out of an old playhouse. I can best see them from the
bathroom window, and I peek at them when I’m in there. Did you know chickens
are cuddlers? They cuddle or huddle together, even on the hottest day. They’re
also pretty—one is a beautiful golden color, another a striking black-and-white
pattern.
One day I saw the
pen door open and nary a human or a chicken in sight. I panicked, thinking a predator
had gotten them. (It happened once before with one chicken and a dog, and I
still remember the predator who got all my kids’ rabbits—gory details not
necessary; I was much more upset than my children who didn’t like caring for
rabbits.) Anyway, I emailed both the dad and mom behind me; turns out the mom
was home and let them out for a bit of free range grazing or whatever chickens
do.
A friend’s Shih
Tzu was grabbed by a predatory bird (hawk, probably). Fortunately, he was too heavy
for the bird, and it dropped the dog.
Poor little guy had vicious-looking wounds from the talons, but with
antibiotics, he’ll be fine. I don’t worry too much about Sophie and birds, be they
hawks or owls, because at thirty pounds I figure she’s too heavy for them to
attack. And I suspect she’d put up a good fight—unless her backyard
demonstrations are all bark and no bite.
But a coyote—I don’t
know. A part of me hopes a coyote just wouldn’t want to try to deal with a dog
almost its own size. I think they go for easier prey. But I’ll never bet on it.
And the occasional bobcat found in the city—that scares me.
But Sophie mostly
prefers to spend her days on the couch (note the head on the pillow). Of course, it’s twilight that worries
me, and I don’t let her out unless I’m at my desk with a full view of the yard.
I have no idea what I would or could do in case of an attack. You know what
they say about adrenaline—I might well abandon the walker and run to the rescue.
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