Whose Den Is It?

Nicholai exemplifies living in the moment. Slightly thinner these days (88 pounds today at the vet), with slightly larger lymph nodes (uh-oh), he romped with abandon, joie d'vie evident as the breeze caught his ears, the east wind bringing hints of spring to the chilly morning.

We stumbled upon a new stomping ground one recent morning; we turned left instead of right, may have slipped past a couple of small signs, followed a narrow trail around a few trees, and climbed over gnarly blackberry canes. There we found a perfect pond, tucked out of sight off the beaten trail. Grass grows right to the water, un-trampled, even by the hooves of deer who obviously visit the area. We returned again this morning.

Ears tossed by the wind, Nicholai seemed perked up by the spring breeze, the lush green grass, the waterfowl, and the deer droppings. As we tromped along the uneven game trail, he suddenly dashed toward the water's edge and plunked in; apparently the bank dropped off unexpectedly. The Canadian geese honked, the lesser scaup scattered, and the Great Blue Heron cawed its prehistoric caw and flew across the marshy pond. Nicholai climbed out of the cold water and shook himself, the drops of water glinting in the morning sun. He glanced over his shoulder at me with an expression that seemed to say "I meant to do that."

Continuing around the water's edge, Nicholai and Izzy nabbed a couple of bones from the ground and hurriedly crunched them up. I noticed a large hole tucked into the bank behind where they stood chewing. As I moved closer, I saw a small skull lying in the opening, piquing my curiosity. Snapping a picture with my phone, I decided to leave it alone and go on our way. I wondered if canis latrans occupied the den and if what I saw was remains of a past dinner. As we neared the end of the pond, curiosity pulled me back, back toward the den. Maybe the skull wasn't from the prey, maybe it was a remnant of the den's former owner. On the trek back, I noticed several additional holes – all with the distinct gestalt of a wilderness home, but whose?

When I found the opening in the bank, with grass hanging over the edge, I crouched down to observe the small skeletal remains closer. If it was coyote, it was a babe when its canine soul left it to become dried bone, nothing left now but a skull. Reaching in, I picked it up to inspect. Looked like canine teeth to me, I tucked it in my pocket to bring home and study further.

Nicholai is such a domestic dog, sleeping on couches and plush bolster beds, snacking on pizza crust, benefitting from vitamins and herbs and medicines when necessary, enjoying car rides, snuggling with humans. But he has a distinct wild side – a penchant for chasing prey animals, eating skanky dead things, or occasionally killing live things to eat them – an undomesticated hint of his wild ancestors and cousins.

As I study the small skull, I wonder who it belonged to and what happened to the little critter. The photos are of the dens, the skull in the den, and a close up of the skull (on my kitchen counter). Any ideas?