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Title : The Ladies' home journal.
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Title : The Ladies' home journal. Year : s. Authors : Wyeth, N. Newell Convers , Publisher : Philadelphia : [s. Contributing Library : Internet Archive. Digitizing Sponsor : Internet Archive. View Book Page : Book Viewer. About This Book : Catalog Entry. Click here to view book online to see this illustration in context in a browseable online version of this book.
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Walking my beloved Jack Russel Snoopy, in the prairie where we have walked for years Statistically Jack Russel Terriers are number 3 on the list of coyote pet dog breed attacks. The first time it just kept walking closer in a slow relaxed manner.
Still, the third time, after I turned to stand tall, and started walking a step towards the coyote A communication of I am the boss here it disappeared into the tall grass This freaked me out, as it implies so many obvious horrible things.
You should NOT run away As we walked back the long way to the car I had such a wide mix of emotions. I wanted to run, screaming hysterically. I wanted to grab a big stick there weren't any in the prairie I definitely nearly soiled my panties. However, being educated about urban wildlife I allowed my brain to figure out this potential disaster. We have to walk out of this. The time of year There is plenty to eat , and the energy spent trying to go for a dog meal would not be wise, nor the potential massive injuries involved The coyote was relaxed, not sickly looking.
So it could hunt effectively on rodents, rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, and opossums which are its normal diet along with fruits, and seeds found in nature. Coyotes also dine on deer fawns, deer road kill, and Canada goose eggs So was I just imagining the coyote "stalking us Perhaps the coyote was just using the path Their scat markings are abundant, and over the past 5 years I have seen only 4 coyote sitings, but hundreds of scats on the very path we walk.
Was the coyote just habituated to humans so much that it did not run when it saw us walking? Why was it so diligent in following so close behind us.
I decided to turn and face the coyote again, and by this time it was nervous enough from the 2 other times I stood to face it to disappear in the tall grass for good But all turned out well. I think I will buy an air horn and some predator spray. The thing is though, I need to educate the coyote not to come so close.
I want the coyote to live a long healthy life, and if it follows someone not so accepting of urban wildlife predators I feel worried, not only for my and Snoopy's safety, but the coyote as well. Coyotes and humans CAN live peacefully together. Its only when coyotes lose their fear of humans that problems arise. DO make noise when you are outside especially if coyotes are often in your area like a den site nearby. They will often change their course of direction when they hear people.
Bring a whistle or horn to scare them away from you. DO NOT feed coyotes or other animals. Even if you are feeding birds e. A habituated coyotes is a potential problem coyote. Coyotes are just one of many mortality factors for outdoor cats.
DO leash your dogs. Although coyotes may follow a leashed dog out of curiosity to the concern of the person , it is extremely rare for them to actually get within contact of your pet. DO enjoy their presence and the fact that having this wily predator adds to the mystique of your potentially even urban neighborhood.
Try to minimize your conflicts with these creatures by following these simple precautions. On top of all the other bags was the fourth bag which contained soiled newspapers which auntie had disposed of from the litter tray and had dumped on top of all the clothes and contents of the bag.
The whole lot had completely ifled the wheelie bin. Not just in the back of her mind, not while enjoying the sun or going to the beach - no, just waiting. She sat bitterly by the windows of her weather-worn farmhouse, hiding in the shade and waiting for summer to die. But just as the nights finally began to cool, the storms came. It started raining in September. It came lightly at first, soft-driven, slow and mad like some new language. When the winds hit, it fell hard and heavy, like the sound of a thousand asylum escapees rattling her windows for shelter.
It was as close to a patchwork quilt as any house could be while still standing. But it had absolutely no reservations when it came to leaking, and the harder the rains fell, the more gleefully it got its revenge. Everywhere that could leak, did. Every windowsill held a thin bubble of water dripped down from condensation, barely held in place by the desperate arms of surface tension.
Missing shingles in the peak of the roof let in a thin stream of rainwater that constantly traced various trails down to the rooms below. There were containers all over the house, half-full and overflowing with water. Pots, pans, bedpans, measuring cups, wooden bowls, buckets - even an upturned oilskin hat, propped up with blocks of wood. And still, it rained. It blew sideways in the morning, beating the tired windows with what seemed like enough strength to shatter them.
It came in updrafts in the evening, tearing under shingles and scattering them across the lawn - with no regard for the nails who tried their best to hold them down.
Some mornings, it would fall like sad tears, drooling from the sky straight down with what seemed like hardly enough weight to make it to the earth. It rained until the ground was drowning, choking up great bursts of water that became ever-widening puddles in the lawn. The great Chinese dragon of the Annapolis River had long since lost its banks, and it sprawled bloated and obese across a sinking valley.
Jezebel was soaked to the skin through every day that autumn, in that particular pruney way that you find yourself after every long bath. The humidity was as stifling as a lukewarm sauna, all around her and in her lungs. One evening, she discovered that mold was growing in her hair, and a number of small, white mushrooms in various locales amongst the tangled mess. She stuck her head out the window to water them.
Her hair used to hang down her chest, just hiding her breasts whenever she was naked. Now, nothing could make it follow the will of gravity. It grew up and out, twirling and twisting toward the sky like a gnarly, diseased tree in love with the wind. One day, when she went to get changed, she discovered that her other clothing had long since grown into the floor. The rain was one thing, but the thunder and lightning shook and shattered the day and night at least twice an hour, rattling the windows and charring the trees.
It had been struck six times since the storms began, and it was strung out and split and cracked, bleeding sap like some well-whipped Christ content on taking punishment for the sins of a weeping house that was still standing. When Jezebel was conceived, and before she was born, she had a twin.
The twin was a girl, like her, not identical but fraternal. Her sister died long before birth, but when Jezebel was born there was something different about her. Or, rather, parts of her. She had one orange eye and one green, a foot that was slightly smaller than the other, six fingers on one hand, and a general schizophrenic quality to her overall appearance.
Being an only child, and taking her chaotic appearance into account, she considered it her responsibility to keep the memory of this unborn sibling alive. She even gave her a name - Ruth - and would speak and act different ways at different times depending on which twin she felt was most craving attention.