It had snowed recently—a big autumn storm that dumped an honest foot of snow in the highcountry while I’d been away on days off. Much of it had melted by the time I wrote this entry but it was still a wintry world at Piute Meadows.
10 Oct (Mon) ◦◦◦◦◦ Around sundown I was sitting in my chair on the porch writing a story about my recent experiences with the big trees over in Sequoia during the Wilderness Managers meeting. As I wrote, there were two coyotes out in the meadow, probably a couple, both hunting voles. One was on this side of the drift fence and came very close—right to the edge of the meadow below the cabin. (The kitties both asleep on my bed so no worries there.) Within five minutes this sleek, fluffy fella caught two voles, both by the charming, classic high-arc pounce made famous by nature documentaries. Mr. Coyote—I’m pretty sure it was a he—was obviously relishing the hunt. And I learned something new: the second vole was caught only fifty yards from the cabin and, when he had it, the wild dog played with the vole just like a cat would a mouse! Hunger temporarily sated by the first one, the wild dog repeatedly tossed his hapless prey into the air, turning it into a toy. I could see the vole scurrying on the snow in confusion and, uh, terror. (I quickly assumed the role of cool, dispassionate observer.) It would be tossed again, try desperately to escape, nowhere to go, while the ‘yote was smiling with ears straight up—clearly having a splendid time. But then it grew bored with the game and with a single crunch (not audible) and a gulp (visible) the vole was gone, swallowed like a protein pill. “Welcome to the wild kingdom,” I thought to myself. It ain’t always pretty out there…but it’s always real.
©2018 by Tim Forsell 19 May 2018
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