My wife has said on more than one occasion that I was born a century too late.  She is probably right.  I like wooden cooking tools better than stainless steel, cast iron skillets better than the non=stick, and I like to dream about it would have been like to have been the first person to travel across my native state of Texas.  I like the “good ole days”.

A recent article in our newspaper caught my attention.  It concerned the Coyote.  Guadalupe is considering calling a halt to the $ 15.00 bounty on coyotes.  Until February, 2002 I probably would not have given much thought to such an article but things do change as I get older and hopefully a bit wiser.

Traveling to west Texas to hunt reminds me of my youth.  The sunsets are clear, as are the sunrises and people are far outnumbered by the local fauna.  Without straining my aging eyes, I can see into the mountains of Mexico and have spent many a night by the camp fire wondering what kind of things were going on across the river.  With no city lights, the stars are so clear that they look like diamonds in the sky.  However, there is something missing.  Never have we heard the howl of a coyote.  As any hunter will tell you, the sound of coyotes in the evening or early in the morning can send chills down your spine.  Your imagination runs wild.  What are they doing and why are they doing it.

I know that coyotes are responsible for the deaths of some animals such as calves, lambs and kids.  They kill an occasional chicken and have even been known to kill a dog or other type pet, but, none of these are their natural prey.  They prefer mice, rabbits and ground squirrels.  We have seen a plethora of these animals so can only surmise that man has somehow caused this little imbalance in the natural order of things.

One of the aspects of the good ole days that I want to again experience is the sound of a pack of coyotes yipping in the early morning hours.  I want to sit by a camp fire late at night and hear one howl.  I promise I wont care why the are doing it, just that they are.

Chuy the conservator