(no subject)
Twice in the last month, driving home from your house, I've seen a coyote. The last time I saw a coyote on the vast expanse of road and nothingness leading to my parents' house was when you still watched me from afar and I was still wearing copious amounts of black eyeliner.
Last night, it was little more than eyeshine in my headlights, but I still knew it was a coyote, much the same way that you know it's a cat crossing the road in front of you, and not a dog, a possum, or a raccoon. The movement gives it away.
Coyotes slink, always on the lookout, very nervous. It's nothing like the way a dog or a fox moves. Dogs are far more confident and deliberate in their motion; foxes are quicker and much lower to the ground.
I thought they were all gone, driven away or killed by all the building up, left with little to no habitat and nothing to eat. It's eerily comforting to know they're still there.
Last night, it was little more than eyeshine in my headlights, but I still knew it was a coyote, much the same way that you know it's a cat crossing the road in front of you, and not a dog, a possum, or a raccoon. The movement gives it away.
Coyotes slink, always on the lookout, very nervous. It's nothing like the way a dog or a fox moves. Dogs are far more confident and deliberate in their motion; foxes are quicker and much lower to the ground.
I thought they were all gone, driven away or killed by all the building up, left with little to no habitat and nothing to eat. It's eerily comforting to know they're still there.