Call of the Wild

They're back there somewhere!"


Catching up with Aunt Joan


Playin' around topside


Cousin Sienna


All leashed up, nowhere to run

I rose in the half light of dawn to hike up Mt. Jumbo with the dogs one last time before we all piled into the car for a nine-hour drive home; slipped into hiking clothes and padded upstairs in wool-stocking feet. Joan was dressed and making coffee as I laced my shoes and the dogs swirled in anticipation.

Out the door we all stole, into the brisk morning. Barking, spinning, and snapping, Nicholai, Izzy, Kelley, and Sienna – Joan's German shepherd – raced to the gate. The trail is immediately steep and as we humans began to huff and puff, the dogs charged back and forth, full of the scent and feel of early.

In a few hundred yards (we were still huffing) the dogs tilted noses into the air, perked ears, and scanned the horizon. Attempting to develop my scanty olfactory skills, I followed their lead and lifted my own head, sniffing the air – something, yes, mildly musky, probably deer, had passed this way. A few moments later, Nicholai and Izzy executed a mad dash off the trail in pursuit of those creatures smelled but unseen.

"Nicholai! Izzy! Hey-hey-hey!" I called to their disappearing figures. As Joan and Sienna trudged ahead and Kelley dropped a stick at my feet, looking at me expectantly, I waited for Nicholai and Izzy to return; and waited. Izzy soon sprinted back through tall gold grass and grinned up at me, tongue hanging. "A little too fast for you?" I scratched her ears. "Nicholai, come on buddy!" Nothing.

I turned to begin stepping up the slope and in a minute or two; I heard the raspy panting of my big black buddy. When he caught up to me, he looked over his shoulder. "Just couldn't catch 'em, eh?" Hiking up the hill, he turned twice more to glance back at the elusive critters in the scrubby pines.

A pack again, our four dogs leapt and dashed, seeming caught up in the wild song brought by the fresh scents on the sharp morning air. Cresting the hill, we made a wide loop around open meadows and pond. No longer huffing and puffing, my sister and I chatted, recalling the free-ranging joys of our childhood and lamenting the structured, play-dated lives of our own children. Finishing up our loop, we stood overlooking the Rattlesnake valley when we heard a cacophony of yips and yaps like a hundred geese had suddenly flocked just below us. Listening for a moment, yipes , barks, and howls sung out from the chorus of animal voices.

"Coyotes?" I suggested. "Yup," Joan nodded. As I glanced around at our dogs, I noticed Nicholai and Izzy staring across the field to our left, where one lone coyote crept by. "Nicholai …" my voice was low, "Izzy…" I warned, but it was too late. As one, they tore after their wild cousin. "Damn," I said as the three of them disappeared into the pines, "well … it's out of my hands now."

Joan and I stood, listening, waiting, and then calling. The chorus below us stilled. Finally, I saw Izzy galloping toward us, but no Nicholai, so I called out. What was he thinking? Old and weakened by cancer, he was no match for a truly wild canine. Suddenly, a wild barking voice broke the quiet, but still no sound from Nicholai. "Well," I said, sounding more cavalier than I felt about what could happen, "at least he wouldn't die from cancer."

Joan clipped a leash on Izzy and I took a deep breath and called long and high; "hey- hey-hey-hey-hey!" At last my wild man came loping out of the trees followed by the howling cries of the lone coyote.

"Calling for reinforcements, don't you think?" Joan asked. I did, and we leashed up all four dogs for the trek back to the house. We saw another coyote watching us from the brush nearby and the dogs strained at their leads. Now I understood the earlier mad dash and the backward glances. The pull of the coyote pack – whether to join or to chase off – was a summons stronger than any call to chase deer.

It was a call to the wild side.