Barefoot in the Chollas

As I write this, there are two great horned owls calling. I've stood between them many times to hear her sound a soft, alto, "hoo, hoo, hoo-hoo" and a breath later hear his sharper, quicker, three note reply. In almost any form, I prefer observing nature than watching what I've come to call " trash t.v.". Occasionally, the drama becomes personal. I've watched the shadowy forms of javalinas select my prized Queen Victoria agave; first, to dig out and completely devour it's roots, next to push around between themselves in a roudy game of snout-ball and finally, to end the match by raising a leg and urinating on it! This brief act worked my emotions as throughly as any good drama would - taking me from anger to laughter in three minutes flat.

Too often, describing animal behavior that isn't commonly reported causes the reporting party to be on the receiving end of one of "those" looks. You know. The, "here comes another alien abduction story", looks. I've seen that look while describing how three Harris Hawks squawked the same call before a group hunt then proceded to the same saguaro. Not so hard to accept - until I add that they not only went to the same saguaro, but once there, they perched one-on-top-of-the-other, like a living totem pole. And me, once again, out in the desert smoking the peace pipe without a camera. None the less, any experience that teaches me something makes the looks of discredit someone elses burden. So I continue to watch and report.

Nightly I hear the coyotes call and answer. They yip, howl, bark, yodel and sing. They congregate, seperate, and undeniably, they communicate. Sometimes it's just a matter of being close enough to understand.

The javelinas made the mistake of becoming regular customers in my agave garden. Their predictable return allowed for study. Similar to opossums, they have a primitive nervous system which inhibits fluid movement. It seems that their eye placement wasn't a well appointed design feature, either, So, like opossums, given the opportunity, they seem to prefer to follow a perimeter pattern. This understanding enabled me to maintain composure when, night after night, within minutes of turning out my light, I would hear something crash into the side of the house. Bumping and scraping like staggering drunks they used the walls to guide them to "happy hour" in my rock garden.

The garden is nestled in an area that drops down from the open mountainside. Taking advantage of the terrain, drystacked walls of gathered rocks run from boulder to native boulder closing a narrow space behind the house. My agave collection blends with an arrangement of cactus protruding from the bank. Entering from the corner of the back wall, the javelina could follow the garden like a buffet line and exit at the opposite corner where they would head for the wash. It t was hard to guess the weight of any of the five of them, moving in the dark as they were, but even the smallest of them looked luau centerpiece size to me.

Appearantly, the coyotes had a similar vision. I don't know how many of them were involved or if they simply blocked the openings and trapped them, but laying in the dark, I made mental note in concern for the repairs they would leave for me as the last of the pigs rounded the corner Within a breath of that thought, all hell broke loose. I jumped from bed and pressed my nose to the window within seconds of the attack. There was a cloud of indistinguishible shapes, gnashing and snorting and flailing against the back of the house. The second that one of the pigs began to squeel, the coyotes started in. They howled and yipped and out squeeled the captured pig. The second the pig stopped. So did they. Silence. Gone.

I sat staring into the dark in utter amazement. Thinking...well planned, well executed, well orchestrated. Orchestrated! How could I have missed the obvious for so long? Preditors camoflauging the sound of prey in distress. Unringing the dinner bell. Now, when I hear the coyotes, I listen differently. I feel like I know the language a litle better. I guess some desert lessons aren't too subtle, but like going barefoot in the cholla, it only takes one time to learn.