Could They Even Catch a Road Runner? On Coyotes, Nature's Lovable Little Weirdos | Opinion

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A misunderstood little critter that's become a problem for humans — long after we began being a problem for them.

Coyotes have the gift of seldom being seen; they keep to the edge of vision and beyond, loping in and out of cover on the plains and highlands. And at night, when the whole world belongs to them, they parley at the river with the dogs, their higher, sharper voices full of authority and rebuke. They are an old council of clowns, and they are listened to.
— N. Scott Momaday

The coyote, in myth and folklore, is very similar to the fox. Small canids that are known for their guile and trickery. In much of western culture, we don’t have — and actively discourage — the tradition of trickster entities. Their purpose wasn’t to cause grief and annoyance, no. Tricksters serve two purposes:

1. To hold a mirror to how utterly absurd social norms can be.
2. To cast a kind of karmic judgment.

Capital-C Coyote, in many native traditions, serves as a judge and benefactor of humanity, slyly grinning from the edge of the woods, thinking about how silly we all are. Coyote raises and aids the poor and wronged — just as foxes, jackals, and other creatures have done in different traditions around the world — and finds fabulous, near Rube Goldbergesque ways to punish the wicked who abuse their power and status.

Capital-C Coyote, in many native traditions, serves as a judge and benefactor of humanity, slyly grinning from the edge of the woods, thinking about how silly we all are. Coyote raises and aids the poor and wronged — just as foxes, jackals, and other creatures have done in different traditions around the world — and finds fabulous, near Rube Goldbergesque ways to punish the wicked who abuse their power and status.

It’s the tradition Wile E. Coyote synchronously comes from, in a way. A lovable weirdo who makes a performance and spectacle of everything, to show how silly life can be. And that, in truth, is Coyote’s gift. Laughing at the misery of the world shines a light into the darkness. What we can’t understand, we fear — but if we can laugh at it, there’s no longer a reason to fear it. It strips the darkness of its power.

Karmic justice follows that idea. If we know that those that abuse their power will find it eventually catches up to them — and see it happen — then Coyote is doing his job.

What does all this have to do with real-world coyotes? Quite a lot. Because most of the problems humans have found with coyotes “infringing,” on cities and suburbs the last several years — is a direct product of humanity infringing on coyotes’ habitats. A kind of karmic justice.

It’s poetic, in a way. We destroyed their habitats out of greed, forcing the coyotes to go hungry. Now?

We have coyotes moving into San Francisco and biting kids (who, frankly, bother and scare the coyotes. They’re not aggressive creatures by nature). And yes, that is the fault of humans, on numerous levels. Coyotes are curious by nature, but they tend to (rightfully) be afraid of people. They don’t go where we are regularly, unless they’re hungry enough to overcome their natural fear of us.

It may surprise plenty of you to know they’re not aggressive by nature — not like wolves. They’ll defend themselves, especially if they’re afraid, and they’re quick and agile enough to cause a fair amount of damage, if cornered.

But in cases like the above — that’s usually the worst coyotes get. They’ll bite, and generally not hard, as a warning or to startle something, before fleeing.

The exception for normal (as opposed to rabid) coyotes is similar to what it is for humans — if they feel their families are being threatened. One of the biggest reasons coyotes become aggressive has a lot to do with their behavior in the wild.

Have you ever heard coyotes in the distance, giggling to themselves all night? That’s not usually a large pack of coyotes. It’s usually only two of them. Coyotes, unlike wolves, tend to pair off into male and female pairs. They get together, very closely bond with each other, and go off into the woods. Their howling is about telling other coyotes that particularly place is now their territory, and they don’t want anyone else coming by.

Goals, right?

Sometimes, it’s also their kids. But their kids grow up and wander off on their own as they get older. But until they do, coyote parents are very protective, doting parents. If a coyote feels their partner or pups (wolves have cubs, coyotes have pups) are in danger, they get froggy about it. They’re an interesting critter — normally fairly shy (if curious), reserved, and lazy (more on that in a sec), they will become very aggressive if their little coyote family is threatened.

A coyote fighting is very similar to how a herding dog will fight, if they have to — quick, erratic movements that confuse their opponent, before quickly striking and dodging back. They’re outboxers, as canids go — and it’s something that contributes to their legends. They’re unpredictable as fighters. They can’t rely on their sheer size — they’re wiry, compact creatures — but what they have is speed, agility, and endurance. If they can keep distance with something they’re in conflict with, even if it’s bigger and stronger than them, they can win a fight easily — very similar to foxes (and where the tales of the fox, Reynard, battling Isengrim, the wolf, come from).

But coyotes, generally, would rather not. That’s too much effort.

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What’s For Dinner? Road Runner?

They’re lazy hunters, and not very picky eaters.

Wolves are carnivores, though not obligate carnivores. Wolves are facultative carnivores. They need, and primarily eat, meat, but they’ll eat most anything they can get their chompers on. Coyotes aren’t. Coyotes are omnivores. They can live without meat if they have to, and subsist on plants (wolves and coyotes both love berries) if they need — but they do prefer meat.

They’re opportunistic predators when they hunt — they want minimal effort and would rather, like cats, surprise something or grab something much smaller than them — but are equally happy as scavengers, which has brought them into conflict with humans.

Farmers know coyotes like chicken. But it’s because chickens are easy prey for them. I mean really, for a coyote, a chicken coop is like looking at a box from KFC. But even then — they’d prefer not to have to be around the strange noises and smells of humans. They come when they have to.

And largely, they have had to. Large-scale farming destroyed their habitats, and increased the frequency of coyote interactions with small farms. This has only become more true over the years. Coyotes are nocturnal hunters by choice — remember, they want to surprise other critters, not have to confront them in the daylight. But more and more, coyotes are coming out during the day. Because they’re starving.

Because we starved them.

Because we forced them into small areas populated by a whole lot of coyotes — something they’re not naturally ok with. Populations rose, and because we also destroyed their prey’s habitats, food for them has been in very short supply.

Wolves get all the press, but coyotes are a wonderful part of ecosystems they live in. They control rodent populations, they scavenge waste, and by playing their small part in ecosystems, they increase biodiversity and ensure the health of an ecosystem. Which is fitting, in terms of the coyote legends. Their subtle, sometimes strange-to-us behaviors are for the good of their homes, and the greater ones we share.

You have a coyote inside you and you have to get it out.
— Chuck Jones

Remember what I said about coyotes being nocturnal hunters?

That’s not to say they’re nocturnal. They’re not. They’re…well, whatever they want to be. Location and their food supply determines when they’re active. Some groups are active in the morning (diurnal), some are more active at night (particularly when they’re around humans, they’re actually nocturnal), and some prefer to split their day between dawn and dusk (crepuscular).

I know I make coyotes sound like lovable, gentle creatures — and they absolutely can be. They’re one of the few canids that can adapt well to living around humans, if they’re exposed to humans and treated properly very young, especially in wildlife refuges. The very thing that makes them the little weirdos they are — their adaptability, resilience, and opportunism — makes them among the best wildlife naturally-adapted to living around humans. Much more so than their cousins, the wolves.

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Kissing Cousins?

“Coydogs,” or half-breeds of coyotes and domesticated dogs, are an interesting case unto themselves. They tend to be much more dog-like than wolf-dogs, without the behavioral weirdness of the ongoing domestication studies with foxes. Coydogs, properly selected for behavioral traits, can live well in human homes within just a few generations. And they aren’t mules — they can reproduce.

It’s possible that one of the other traits that make them uniquely, well, themselves — their massive vocal repertoire and love of “talking,” and “singing,” contribute to that. Many dogs are incredibly capable of learning human language (mostly the working dogs. Companion breeds, due to their brain mass, tend to not be so great at it). Coyotes have a vast vocal language all their own, in addition to the “normal” canid vocabulary (which is surprisingly extensive itself) use of body language.

Language capability is one of the biggest predictors of what we call “intelligence.” Coyotes are skilled problem solvers (especially when food is involved). So too are the “brainy” dog breeds — poodles, border collies, and other herding and working dogs. They’re brighter than their innate silliness — they constantly tease, play with, and poke at each other, and have a kind of play-clumsiness to them that seems to serve to entertain each other — makes them seem. A coyote’s social life is one of constant play, movement, exploring, and wandering.

But we took that life from them. By deciding we’d be better of with bland, suburban sprawl, governed by the petty fiefdoms of HOAs. We decided that we needed expansive cities. We decided we needed large-scale, destructive farming.

We felt we were better than them.

We felt they would just go away. Or hey — we could kill them. As we tend to do with anything that gets in the way of what we insist is, “progress,” human, plant, or other animals.

And it’s only fitting that the spirit that was once the judge of those ideals — who laid low the humans who felt they were superior to others, or nature itself — came back to haunt us.

The greatest trick Coyote ever played was convincing us he wouldn’t have the last laugh.

And because of our own machinations, well, we got what was coming to us. And we can choose what to do with that. Take the lesson for what it is — that suburbs are a cancer for the environment, and urban sprawl is metastatic and should be excised, as is only proper for cancers — or try, and fail, to combat nature. To let the coyote have his turn at playing Road Runner.

Which, I like to think, Coyote would appreciate the irony of.

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Common Name: Coyote (various varietals, but we’ll use my local. The Texas Plains Coyote)
Latin Name: Canis latrans (all coyotes) texensis (the Plains coyote)
Size: A little over 3 feet long, counting the tail. Weighs 25-40 pounds. Has tiny little feet, relative to their body size.
Texas Habitat: Mostly in Central Texas, especially near the Highland Lakes.
What do they eat: Whatever they can. They prefer rodents for protein, but will also eat vegetables. The Plains coyote has a deep love of squash, surprisingly.
Lifespan: Not long in the wild. Most only live to around 3 years, though the oldest known in the wild lived 11 years. In captivity, similar to dogs — 12-15 years.
What sounds do they make: Oh boy, all kinds. Yips, howls, giggles, screams, you name it. You can listen to them here.
Fun fact: They’re romantic little things. They mate for life, presumably due to their mutual love of bad jokes. They’re also — which may surprise you — about twice as fast as your average road runner.
How cute are they: Extra cute, if scraggly little things. 12/10.

Enjoy this piece? You can come see me over at A Boy and His Dog Save America for more fun facts than you can shake a wampus cat at.

It's not just the fun facts for me though — I’m entirely fueled by coffee.