by LW Oakley
It was the coyote that gave him life although he did not know it then or now.
The coyote had followed his mother for days knowing that she would soon give birth. The coyote did not know there would be two deer this time - one for the coyote and one for the mother.
But the mother knew. When she dropped the first fawn she turned and bounded away without looking back. The coyote arrived seconds later. Within minutes all trace of the fawn was gone except for the bulge in the belly of the coyote that was once the bulge in the belly of the doe.
She gave birth to the second fawn after swimming across a cedar swamp to a small island covered with soft moss and granite rock. She needed rest and knew the coyote would rest too after pursuing its meal for so long and devouring it so fast.
His mother had been dead now for many years. She had abandoned him after one winter like she had all the others before him. One day he turned around and she was gone. He searched and called for her often but she never returned. But she had taught him to survive. He knew what to eat and where to find it and when to be there to eat before it was eaten by others.
It would soon be his time to die. He was back on that same island now. He had returned there many times during his life. It was the only place he felt safe. The old blood that came from a long continuous line of big bucks felt cold inside him as it finally slowed in his veins. He had passed it on with some of his own during his time in the woods and it beat in the hearts of many others.
He was a big buck that had survived seven long winters that seemed like seven long years. It was February and he had no antlers now. They had fallen off weeks ago as they did each winter. Nature was cruel that way. He needed them most in winter when the coyotes had the advantage in the deep snow and over the hard ice. He had walked out to the island over the snow crusted ice where they could easily follow. He knew they were coming and would soon be there.
His life had been hard. The woods and the wind and the cold and the coyotes made him strong and tough and fast and able to survive his life of hardship. The woods were his home. But he did not need a nest, or cave, or hole to hide or rest or take shelter in. He was even wilder than the black bear that ruled over these woods. It needed warmth and shelter from the cold and fury of winter. He stood outside all winter long rarely sleeping and chewing bark off a tree just to stay alive another day.
The coyotes had helped make him strong and he would not run this time. He would make it easy for them. He would give back. His flesh would be their flesh and his blood would run in their veins. He would become the coyote. He would help make them strong.
He had lived a life of solitude except for a few weeks each November during the peak of the rut. Then he was overwhelmed by an uncontrollable urge to mate and if necessary he would fight for that privilege. He had even killed another buck during a struggle over a doe in heat. He did it by driving his long pointed antler tine through the eye socket and into the brain of his opponent.
Now he could see the coyotes coming over the ridge and down the wooded slope. There were five coyotes and the one in the lead was wagging his tail. They did not run with their noses to the ground following his scent. They could see his tracks and small red drops of fresh blood in the white snow where the hard crust had scrapped the hair and hide from his front legs.
They saw him from thirty yards away standing near the edge of the island. They came together now and approached slowly shoulder to shoulder as a pack. He did not lower his head but held it high offering them his neck. They would tear into him together but only one would pull him down by the throat and hold it closed.
When they were within a few feet he turned his head and waited. The only thing moving now was his last breath. It drifted slowly away from him across the frozen swamp towards the open ridge and the big woods beyond until it was gone.
LW Oakley lives in Kingston, hunts near Kaladar and is the author of Inside The Wild available at the publisher’s website www.gsph.com
