Walking Nicky the dog very late Sunday night — might even already be Monday morning, when….
I see a coyote galloping down the street.
At least, I think it’s a coyote. I’ve never actually seen a coyote. But it looks like what I think a coyote looks like.
Of course, it could be a dog. But it has no leash or collar. And there’s no human being running up the streets behind it, yelling: “Hey, Lassie, wait for me….”
So it’s either a dog who got away from its house or a coyote.
Nicky looks at me as if to say: “What the fuck was that?!?”
To the corner we go. I look in the direction the coyote had been running.
There it is — way up ahead. Still running. Like it has a greater purpose — somewhere it wants to get to before the night’s over.
It stops. Turns around. Aw, fuck — it’s coming back!
I wish I could tell you I’m a brave man, who picked up a stick and said: “Bring it on, coyote!”
I turn and run.
And Nicky turns and runs with me, step for step, as if to say: “I’m not fucking with that coyote!”
We retrace our steps back to my house. Scamper up the front steps. Throw open the front door, race inside and slam the door shut.
Dead bolt the lock — just in case that coyote had a key.
“You won’t believe what I just saw,” I yell.
“What?” says my wife.
As usual, she can’t hear me because 1.) she’s upstairs in the bedroom and 2.) we’re can’t hear a goddamn thing anymore on account of the fact that we’re getting old.
Hey, it’ll happen to you, too!
“I said — I saw a coyote!”
“I’m telling you — it was a fucking coyote!”
I walk into the bedroom and she gives me the third degree. I feel like a crime victim talking to the police sketch artist about a criminal who stole my wallet.
“What did it look like?” she asks.
“Like a dog — only skinnier….”
“And it had a smaller head than a dog….”
“And it was sort of red….”
As she talks, she’s clicking away at her i-Pad. I knew that fucker would come in handy sooner or later.
“Did it look like this?” she asks.
She shows me a picture of a coyote she found on Google images.
“Oh, my God,” I exclaim. “Yes — that’s it!”
“That’s the coyote you saw?”
“Well, I can’t say it’s the exact one — it could be a cousin.”
Not sure what to do next. Call the police so they can put out an All-patrol bulletin for a coyote on the loose?
My wife keeps exploring on the computer. Turns out Chicago’s officials have let them loose so they can eat rabbits and rats.
Meanwhile, Nicky’s peeking out from under the bed as if to say: I’m not coming out `til that coyote’s gone!
I don’t blame her. I want to hide under that bed, too.
It’s not safe for man nor dog with coyotes running loose on the streets of Chicago.
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