When Coyotes Come Calling

Last night our neighbour Deb came by. Deb and Gary live up Vance Rd beside the couple who own the pet deer. Well they may not own it. Deb suggests it might be more like a B&B situation and the deer just really likes staying there.  We often chat with Deb as we walk by with the dogs, but this was our first sit-down-with-a-glass-of-wine-and-discuss-all-of-our-neighbours kind of visit, so this was a big step. Chebbi contributed what he could by barking for attention the entire visit. Phyll finally gave him one of her old sweaters that I won't let her wear anymore, and he happily tore it into small, soggy bits. 

Deb and Gary have lived on their farm for 25 years, so she knows the lay of the land and the coyotes that roam it. She said the same pack has been in the Chilligo Rd area for years, and they are pretty clever at coming into a yard or field undetected, surrounding an animal and whisking it away. With female dogs, she said, they are taken into the pack, whereas the fate of male dogs is a little more grim. 

She recounted a time years ago when they were bringing in the hay and her son was in the field on his little two wheel bike. The coyotes were hiding behind the bales of hay preparing to attack. Gary saw the pack and scooped up son and bicycle onto the wagon while the coyotes slipped away. 

I was riveted by her tales, especially in light of the coyotes that often howl into the night, trying to lure Griff out with offers of cigarettes and moonshine. 

My fascination and terror may explain my dream last night. I was trying to paddle a  canoe with a baby in my lap and I was struggling to keep the baby upright. I mean no one wants a baby tipping over. The difficulty of the task was increased by the fact that my paddle was not a paddle so much as it was a straw broom, much like the broom I had used to sweep the back porch earlier in the day. I am not sure how many of you have experience paddling with a broom, but I can tell you I was not making great progress. 

Skip ahead, as all good dreams do, to a completely new scene. I am walking into a bar with a plastic bag filled with empty bottles to return, and lo and behold when I reach into the bag there is the baby again. I am relieved to find the baby has not tipped over but is positioned upright, which is always a concern when travelling with a small baby in a flimsy plastic bag that I might have purchased at a grocery store for five cents. 

I don't recall much beyond the relief of the baby being okay, and I don't remember finding it odd that I was travelling, as it were, with a baby in a plastic bag. I know this dream doesn't cast me in a very positive light in terms of taking parenting seriously, but, in my defence, I had no sense that the baby was mine, as in, oh the baby in the bag has my eyes. 

When I woke later and Phyll asked how I slept, I mentioned my dream of paddling a canoe with a baby but omitted the bar scene. And the plastic bag. Phyll said she never had such weird dreams and wondered if I was more introspective than her, which is just a nice word for neurotic. She may be right. All I know is when the coyotes come calling tonight I will be holding my babies just a little bit tighter.