The Extraordinary Experience of Sharing a Glorious Sunrise With a Genuine Coyote Companion

This morning on a walk I came into contact with a large coyote who stuck around to share the sunrise with me.

I’ve never been a good sleeper, and without drapes to block the light I am awakened often just as the sun starts to rise, given how bright it is in the summer. This coupled with the pain that prevents me from sleeping more than a few hours while it’s still dark means I am never rested.

Believe me when I say that chronic sleep deprivation causes you to see things in a different light, no pun intended. It can lead to a sense of despondency but also strip away the filters which prevent us from sometimes from seeing the beauty around us. It also opens the floodgates to our emotions, making it so the beauty we now perceive truly touches us deep within. At least that is my experience.

Since I’m usually up so early I have started taking walks along the lake before the sun becomes a threat to my skin and the heat relegates me to my bedroom dressed in nothing but a t shirt to be able to catch as much of the fans efforts as possible. In the days since I began this I have caught sight of things that have amazed me that I likely would have passed by with barely a glance before. Flowers and grasses I stopped to examine, sought to identify when I returned home.

Today however, I got a surprise. There standing by the lake path was a coyote. At first I thought it was a large dog, but aside from leash laws, it didn’t look quite “doglike,” especially its tail which was very long and fluffy and held out directly behind him. (Trust me, I didn’t get close enough to confirm it’s sex but I just had a sense that it was a male.)

The coyote population has been growing in Chicago though they are typically nocturnal to avoid human contact. Most of the people I know here have caught sight of one of these canids, though generally from a distance as it was running away. Until today, I’d never seen one.

This coyote, a really large one, seemed satisfied to stand and look at me and made no move to run off. You’ll have to forgive me for not snapping a few photos of it. Even though they’re supposed to be afraid of humans, and the only attacks on people I’m aware of have been when the person was walking a dog, with the dog being the target, I still didn’t want to do anything that he might interpret as a threat.

I crossed my arms over my chest and pulled myself up to my full height. I remembered this was what you do if encountering a wild dingo from when I was a kid and the baby was taken by a dingo in Australia. I couldn’t remember what you were supposed to do after that and had no idea if coyotes responded the same as dingoes but I figured turning and running while screaming at the top of my lungs was the wrong way to go.

After standing still for a minute and calming down a little, I noticed that the coyote didn’t seem to be doing anything threatening. It wasn’t baring its teeth or growling, if in fact they do growl . (My knowledge on coyotes comes from the road runner cartoons and I’m still convinced these birds go “meep meep.”)

The animal’s ears weren’t pressed back against it’s head, another sign I though signaled aggression though I had no idea in what species so didn’t really know if it applied here. It’s tail was straight out behind it, and I thought that maybe raising its tail would signal trouble though I found myself wondering if this was more related to skunks than coyotes.

Was there something about dropping your eyes to signal submission? Making yourself really small and rolling up into a fetal position to signal you weren’t a threat? Maybe playing dead? Standing on tiptoe and raising your arms high overhead, preferably holding branches while yelling at it, to suggest it had no chance against you? Running like hell and climbing a tree as soon as possible? Were some of these for bears? Or maybe alligators?

I don’t think I knew a thing about coyotes other that they do live in Chicago, a fact that really wouldn’t help if this one decided to attack me. The best I could do would be to try to fight it off with my phone.

Maybe I could get the flash light up and shine it in its eyes? Though I could never seem to find the flashlight function, and right now would not be a good time to try.

Please, Mr. Coyote, would you wait before attacking me so I can see if I can find my flashlight function?

I almost broke out into hysterical laughter, then thought I’d better stifle it unless I wanted Mr. Coyote to think I was a hyena.

Do Coyotes and Hyenas get along?

So I just kept standing there like a mummy staring at him, while trying to send messages telepathically.

I’m not a threat, just a woman on an early morning walk, nice coyote, nice, good, beautiful coyote, you’re perfectly safe with me, I’m not going to hurt you and you really don’t want to hurt me either. . .

I’m not sure whether it was my eloquent telepathy or if he just had no intention of attacking me, but he did something that resulted in a sigh of relief on my part (a soft sigh of relief for fear that anything louder might change things for the worse). He turned away from me towards the lake where the sun was rising. Huh.

So not only was he not intimidated or scared of me, he felt I was completely dismissable to the point he could turn his back on me. I wasn’t sure if I should feel relieved or insulted.

At this point several, long minutes had passed and my arms were starting to cramp. I slowly dropped them to my sides and my fear calmed down enough that I was able to realize that I was probably witnessing something truly amazing. Not only did this coyote seem to be appreciating the nature around him, he appeared to be watching the sunrise just as I’d come out to do.

I don’t think if you asked me to come up with words to describe coyotes I would put regal on the list. Yet in this moment of shared intimacy, it was what came to mind.

Looking more closely at him, I could see he was far from the mangy, skinny image of coyotes that I held in my mind. He had a thick coat and long nose, and his ears stood almost perpendicular to his head.

Hopefully, a good sign.

His tail was long and bushy and he didn’t seem to use it like a dog would.

A little wagging would go a long way to putting my mind at ease regarding how friendly you are, you know.

My mind was full of thoughts as I moved a few steps closer to the lake. Between my thoughts and the beauty of the sunrise in those moments before the day began for most people and the heat began to mount, I didn’t notice any movement out of the corner of my eye or even sense it.

But then I thought to see where the coyote was and he was no longer where he had been, directly to my right. When I turned to face forward though, my peripheral vision kicked in causing me to look slowly down to my left. While my mind was elsewhere, the coyote had managed to approach me and cross behind me to stand just a few feet away.

Up close he was even bigger than I thought and I don’t know why I wasn’t frightened by this development other to say he didn’t seem to want anything other than companionship for a moment. We both watched the sky until it had fully lightened and a fiery sun hung high enough to let us know it was going to be a very hot day and not one for sailors to be out during (red sky at morning . . .).

Then, without a backwards glance, the coyote turned and trotted away toward the north. I wished him well, and prayed there weren’t any folks out with guns who might shoot him whether or not he was showing any threatening behavior. With any luck, anyone who saw him would just think he was a big dog that had gotten away from his owner.

Godspeed, Mr. Coyote. Be safe. Be happy.

Natalie Frank (Taye Carrol) has had work featured in Haunted Waters Press, Weirdbook Magazine, Siren’s Call Publications, Lycan Valley Press and Zero Fiction among others. Her poetry has been featured in several anthologies. She is Editor for 1-One-Infinity, The Partnered Pen and One Table, One World and is Editor in Chief for Promposity and Mental Gecko. She is also the Managing Editor for Novellas and Serials at LVP Publications.

Read the poem I wrote to commemorate this experience:

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