A terrier chasing a coyote? That's home schooling for you/ Mike Geary in coyote free Memphis On Tue, Nov 23, 2010 at 10:08 PM, Robert Paul <rpaul@xxxxxxxx> wrote: > We have a little Jack Russell rescue, who’s somewhere around two and > weighs twenty pounds. As a Terrier must, he barks daily at the squirrels > that run along the top of the back fence and swing impudently from branches, > flicking their tales at him. For the past few days though he’s been running > to the front door and barking his deepest Big Dog bark; he keeps it up even > after I’ve turned on the outdoor light and seen nothing. There are a number > of cats who roam the neighborhood. ‘Cats,’I said to myself. > > > > Last night however he was in a frenzy, even though again I could see > nothing for him to be barking at. Finally, he quieted down and jumped up and > lay beside me as I was trying to watch a college basketball game on TV, and > read the New Yorker. The forecast had been for snow and below-freezing > temperatures—unusual for Portland, in November, and after a while I went to > the front door to sniff the air. I opened the door a crack—no more than > three inches—and like a shot, a shot propelled by a rocket on steroids, Milo > the Terrier was out the door and disappearing down the street, which was > lightly covered with frozen snow. I put on some shoes and an old hat and ran > upstairs to wake Linda. We backed the car out and drove slowly around the > neighborhood, trying to keep to the route we take when we’re walking him. > > > > Every now and then we would see flashes of white fur zooming the opposite > way from us. A few times he came near the car but when we reached out to > him, off he went again. Eventually, we gave up, came back inside and hoped > that Milo would find his way home by himself. In a bit, Linda went out again > on foot and came back to report that Milo was chasing a very *big* coyote > around the neighborhood, and that sometimes the coyote seemed to be chasing > *him*. She'd last seen them as they disappeared into the underbrush. I > thought of him lying bleeding from his wounds as he froze to death on this > coldest night of the year. > > > > A happy ending: Milo kept returning to the front door but shying away when > we tried to grab his collar or his tail or even his fur. He did this three > or four times; but in the end, wet, muddy, half-frozen, he came in through > the door, which we’d left propped open, on his own. He was glad to be rubbed > down with dry towels and to be fussed over but his heart was still beating > as if he were still in flight or in hot pursuit. Or both. > > > Robert Paul > Lake Oswego OR > > > > >