Coyote Ugly

***Bernie in her favorite Tahoe watering hole; Summer, 1999***

Tahoe naturally has a lot of coyotes, none of which are to fear. However, toward the end of my time there, the town was becoming overrun with them. They were approaching people, nibbling hands of joggers, "joining" children playing in their yards--that type of thing. 

As I mentioned, Bernie and I spent almost every non-winter day in the mountains by our apartment/house, at the top of Norma Ave., which is off Pioneer Trail in South Lake Tahoe, California. She'd be loose, I'd be on my mountain bike, she'd do her own thing while I huffed and puffed up the mountain, though she'd stay close by. There was a nice single-track biking trail midway up the mountain, and we'd travel that flat ride for quiet a while, us both generally at full speed. She was so beautiful when she ran at any speed. We'd hit my favorite spot in Tahoe, which was about one thousand feet above Lake and town level (about 7,500 feet altitude), and I'd drop my bike, sit on my rock, catch some rays, and look over the lake while I caught my breath and cleared my mind. Bernie would spend this time hunting lizards, and chasing ground squirrels and chipmunks. Good times for sure. From there we'd barrel down the mountain, and I mean barrel, following a mountain biker made trail that winded through rocks and sent you down the thousand foot drop in no time flat. Yes, I'd crash occasionally, and yes, this was before helmets were common, so neither Bernie nor I wore a helmet. When we got to the bottom, Bernie would head straight to her pool of water, shown in the picture and mentioned in a prior post. Sometimes, she would stay forever in that water, and I'd head back to the house after watching her enjoy herself cooling down. About a half-hour later, she'd show up at the door soaked and glad to be home.

It was after we'd climbed the one thousand feet to the trail across the mountain where, especially at dusk, we'd often run into coyotes--one at a time, never more than one. A pack would've concerned me. Occasionally, one would join us on our run--if we or Bernie stopped, it would stop, so it wasn't hunting Bernie!--and eventually split off on its own. It wasn't uncommon for one to approach us when we were idle, too, coyote stopping five or ten feet away just looking at us. They never bugged us a lick. 

One day, though, Bernie decided to be a coyote. She joined her new friend, them chasing and frolicking like dogs. Bernie decided to run off with the coyote into an area I couldn't navigate, especially at the speed they were running. She was gone. I called and called, somewhat concerned but also certain of the fact Bernie could hold her own if they battled. Besides, she'd been with them lots with no problems, and she knew her way home. After a long while with no sight or sound from her, I went down to her watering hole. Maybe a half-hour later, Bernie arrived, her tongue hanging out and no worse for the wear. She had a huge tongue, and at full pant it was hilarious--all purple spotted and virtually hanging halfway to the ground.

That was the only time she ran off on her own with a coyote, and it's a good thing. Not long after that, I learned that one method of hunting for coyotes is to befriend a dog, any size dog, play with it like a dog, all the while leading it back to the pack. I'm sure you can guess what happens at this point, needless to say doggie would never return home. Bernie was lucky to have a happy coyote tale to tell all her doggie friends and not a coyote ugly demise.

The pic I posted on Monday, of Bernie at one--I put that as my desktop photo on my Mac. I laugh everytime I see it, it's so darned cute and funny!