Between Wild and Home
by Andrew Moore
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
The crawlspace was only a few blocks away. Creeper led the way, with Fidget and Wormy close behind, and Momma bringing up the rear. Thankfully, they were downwind of the dogs.
Creeper emerged from the alley onto the street and came to a stop. There were unfamiliar shapes just down the sidewalk. Canine shapes.
“Oh my,” said Wormy, falling over.
Fidget slapped the possum’s face. “Wormy! What are you doing? Get up!”
Momma charged up to Fidget. “What’s the hold-up? Why is he playing dead?”
Creeper covered her eyes. “W-wild dogs!”
Momma turned to look at the dark canine figures now entering the lit street.
“It’s a coyote and her pup.” Momma stepped out of the shadows, looking down the street. The wild dogs were coming.
The coyote briskly trotted toward the treeline. Her pup was happily following after, carrying a bone in his mouth, completely unaware of the threat now rounding the corner at the end of the street.
The bone was too large for the pup, and he dropped it. He laid down to gnaw on it. The mother coyote kept going, unaware that her pup was straggling behind. She was keeping an eye on the four dark shadows now stalking toward her, half a block away.
She glanced back, perhaps to tell her pup to pick up his pace. To her dismay, she saw him lying in the street, blissfully gnawing at the bone. She ran back to him.
Spurred by the coyote’s motion, the wild dogs picked up their pace as well.
Momma was transfixed, twitching slightly as she watched the wild dogs stalk closer to their prey. Despite her relatively calm demeanor, her mind was racing. The odds were bad. Coyotes typically avoided these sorts of fights, but the mother coyote was defending her pup. She couldn’t run away.
“Momma, we gotta go!” Fidget put a paw to his brow, looking back and forth between the possum and the cat. He couldn’t drag both of them to safety at the same time. He glanced back at the wild dogs. They were closing in on the coyote and her pup.
Fidget was exasperated. “Dammit. I’ll come back for you.” He grabbed Wormy’s tail and hauled him in the direction of the crawlspace, passing Creeper on the way. “See what you can do with her.”
Creeper’s heart was pounding. She wanted nothing more than to scurry away from the loud growls. Plucking up her courage, she sprinted to Momma’s side.
Momma was standing stock-still, save for an almost imperceptible twitch of her whiskers. Creeper heard her whispering to herself, “Not this time.”
“Momma...”
“Go with the others.”
Had she lost her mind? She was inching toward the pack, who were now circling the coyote and her pup. The coyote looked every inch the wild beast she was. Back arched, tail tucked, all the fur on her haunches standing straight up. Lips pulled back, baring her teeth, she was growling, hissing and snapping her jaws.
The wild dogs were less showy, but no less menacing. They slowly stalked around their prey, heads low, growling.
One of the wild dogs, a mutt with upright ears and a scar across his face, lunged at the pup. The mother coyote spun around and snapped at the dog. Another wild dog, this one short and squat with dirty white fur, bit at the mother’s haunches. The coyote yowled in pain and turned back. A third dog joined the attack.
The dog with upright ears reared back, ready to pounce on the coyote pup. To Creeper’s horror, Momma sprang forward. With a furious cry, Momma leapt at the dog, scratching at its face. The dog recoiled from the surprise attack. Momma leapt back toward the pup. The pup was lost, afraid for his mother and unsure what to do. Momma hissed at him.
The mother coyote glanced back at her pup, said one word, and turned back to the wild dogs, snapping and snarling. Frustrated, Momma raised her paw and popped the small coyote on his snoot. The pup snapped out of his daze and ran with Momma, who bounded back toward Creeper. As they got closer, Creeper could hear Momma repeating the words over and over, “Don’t look back.”
The dog with the upright ears, recovered from Momma’s surprise attack, turned his attention to the mother coyote. The wild dogs attacked her, charging, biting and withdrawing: weakening her. The dog with dirty white fur latched onto her hind leg, shaking his head back and forth. Hemmed in from all sides, injured and unable to fend off the wild dogs, the coyote fell.
Creeper turned away and closed her eyes to shut out the sight of bloodied muzzles, but she couldn’t shut out the smell of blood. The night grew quiet, save for sounds of the dogs feeding on their prey. Distraught, Creeper crept back to the crawlspace, feeling sicker and more hopeless with each step.
Back at the crawlspace, Wormy was helping Fidget barricade the opening. Creeper leapt through a tiny crack in the barricade to their great surprise.
“Oh my...” said Wormy.
“Don’t you do it!” Fidget replied.
The pup was in Momma’s corner of the crawlspace. It was dark, but in the dappled streetlight that filtered through the foundation vents, Creeper thought she saw Momma licking his face. Grooming him. Somehow, after the horror of the wild dog attack, the tableau made Creeper feel safe.
Fidget sat next to Creeper. “Looks like we have a new member of our little pack, huh? I wonder what Momma’s gonna name him. Maybe ‘Howlie.’ Because they howl, you know?”
Creeper inched closer. Momma was purring.
“Baby boy, you’re so small,” she said. “Just a little runt.”
* * *
Come morning, Momma was curled up with Runt, who was finally asleep. Fidget and Wormy were by nature nocturnal, and just settling in for the day. Creeper had barely slept. The sight of those bloodied muzzles, the sound of cracking bones, the smell of blood haunted her. Nevertheless, she found herself itching to get out into the world.
Creeper darted out into the morning. The sun was warm, and the fresh air felt good. The previous night seemed more and more like a nightmare. Without thinking about it, she backtracked to where the mother coyote had made her last stand.
The people had come. They had removed the mother coyote’s remains and were just now closing up the back of their truck. Creeper didn’t like that truck. It was large and loud and smelled of death. She watched as it pulled away, leaving a dark stain on the road. Creeper sat and looked at it a while, as other people drove by, on their way to wherever it is people go.
Momma kept close to Runt, taking great care of him. Creeper had to take the lead on scouting missions by herself, a task she threw herself into with great gusto. Creeper kept it simple: do what Momma would do. This required a level of bravery she didn’t know she had. She even had regular conversations with Baron.
Baron was surprised to learn that Creeper had once been a pet. “I ran off once, when I was a puppy,” he said. “I suppose it was easier to find a big ol’ boy like me than a little rat.” He was sitting in the backyard, face toward the noonday sun. “Don’tcha just love the sun? I tell you, Creeper, when you get to be my age, you appreciate the little things.”
Creeper closed her eyes and joined Baron in his reverie. “This is nice.”
“How’s the little ki-yote doin’?”
“Good! He joins us when we forage. He likes to eat!”
“Young pups are all the same. All appetite.”
“It surprises me. When I lost my person, I was so scared and alone. What Runt went through is so much worse.”
“The untamed ones are different from us,” Baron sighed. “Those of us who’ve been kept as pets, I mean. Life is harder for the untamed. Tragedy can strike at any time. And yet they have to keep going. Foraging, hunting, eating, sleeping, mating, and just plain surviving.”
“We have to survive, too.”
“Yah, we do. But you and me and Momma... we know what it’s like to have someone looking out for us. Feeding us, giving us a safe warm place to sleep. When tragedy hits us, it can throw our whole world upside down.” Baron sniffed and turned his head toward the house.
“My family’s coming back. I appreciate the company, Creeper, but you know the rules.”
Creeper brushed past the old dog on her way out of the yard, and he wagged.
* * *
The weather grew colder as Creeper grew more comfortable in her new role. She could sit back and enjoy the nightly raids, watching her pack feast on the leftovers she scouted. Runt was growing playful, playing keep-away with Fidget and Wormy. Momma stayed aloof, maintaining that disapproving air she wore so well but, as usual, her purring gave away her true feelings.
Their patchwork pack was feeling more and more like a family. Most days, Runt could be found sleeping between Fidget and Wormy, sharing warmth with his older brothers. Momma had rejoined Creeper on scouting missions, but it was a partnership now. Momma was sharing knowledge, not giving orders.
Even the wild dog situation had improved. The people were on edge after the coyote was killed, afraid for their children and pets. Traps were set and trucks patrolled, and soon it seemed the gang that had terrorized the neighborhoord had been removed.
* * *
Runt was growing restless. Coyotes are not strictly nocturnal, and come the dawn he was often pacing in the crawlspace, itching to get out into the world. “I wanna go outside.”
“You can go outside tonight.”
“But I wanna go outside now.”
“Runt, I’ve told you, it’s dangerous for a coyote to go outside during the day. The people might see you.”
Runt lowered his head and grumbled to himself. He didn’t understand the danger, but he trusted Momma. Still, he felt trapped in the crawlspace, and wild animals do not like to feel trapped.
One day, Runt caught the scent of a rabbit. Momma and Creeper had left early on patrol. Fidget and Wormy were asleep. The temptation was overwhelming, and Runt quietly slipped out of the crawlspace, close on the heels of his newfound prey.
The rabbit darted across lawns, under bushes, and through flower beds. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the young coyote. Thinking himself safe, the rabbit crouched beneath a holly hedge, ears erect, nose working overtime to detect even the faintest scent of danger.
The wind was blowing the wrong way, and Runt was silent and fast on padded feet. Before the rabbit knew what was happening, he was in the jaws of the coyote. Runt was overjoyed. This was his first real hunt! He had to show the guys. He got a better grip on the rabbit and merrily trotted back to the crawlspace.
This pursuit was, of course, in full view of the people still at home. Retirees, a school kid out sick, a work-from-home mom whose desk faced the street.
Fidget and Wormy were fast asleep, but Runt couldn’t wait to tell them the good news.
“Hey... Fidget... Wormy! Look what I’ve got!”
Wormy rolled over and opened and blinked. “That’s nice, Runt,” he yawned.
Suddenly, Wormy sat straight up, eyes wide like trash-can lids. “What is that!?”
This woke Fidget, who was dreaming about washing his hands in a cool mountain stream. “Whuzzat...”
“Oh my...” Wormy flopped over.
Runt was confused. “I caught a rabbit, you guys! My first real hunt!”
Fidget shook his head, clearing out the lingering fatigue of an animal that definitely doesn’t rise before dusk.
Runt looked elated, a little out of breath, with blood on his lips and chin. The poor little rabbit was quite dead, fur matted from blood and saliva.
Every instinct told Fidget to run away. Instead, he put on a pleasantly neutral expression, and approached Runt. “That’s good, Runt, real good.” Fidget took a closer look at the rabbit. It wasn’t anyone he knew. “Congratulations, kid. You must be really proud!”
“First I smelled him, right? And I know I’m not supposed to leave the crawlspace, but it was driving me crazy that he was out there, and I was in here, so I left...” He went on, breathlessly recounting the hunt. Fidget nodded along, hoping that Momma and Creeper were on their way back. Momma would know how to deal with this.
The story ended, Runt sniffed at the rabbit and licked his chops.
“Hey, Fidget, want some of my rabbit?”
Raccoons are not above dining on carrion, but Fidget had lost his appetite. “I’m good, kid. But you go ahead. Enjoy.”
“Yeah, sorry I woke you, but I just had to tell somebody!”
“I’m glad you did. Good work, kid. Really impressive.” Fidget elbowed Wormy, who dropped the dead act and rolled onto his feet. “We need to catch some more shut-eye. Lots of scavenging planned for tonight!”
* * *
But Fidget couldn’t get back to sleep. He lay awake, eyes closed, listening to Runt devour the rabbit.
Momma and Creeper returned just before dusk. Runt recounted the story of his first real hunt, in excited whispers this time. Momma was cool but complimentary. Creeper suddenly had business to take care of out of the crawlspace.
That night, Fidget took it up with Momma.
“We’ve gotta talk about the kid.” Fidget scratched his chin, looking for the right words. “I like Runt. He’s a lot of fun and a great snuggle buddy, if I’m being honest.”
“But...”
“But he belongs with other coyotes. Out in the woods.” Fidget rubbed his face. “He made short work of that rabbit. It’s, uh... a little scary. I’m not saying he would want to eat one of us...”
Momma looked over at Runt. He was feeding on the better part of a chicken carcass. The chicken carcass was just a little bigger than Creeper, who sat some distance from Runt, eating what looked like a yam.
“Besides, if the people see him...”
“They’ve already seen him.”
Momma looked up at the moon and sniffed the air. Fidget was right. Runt wasn’t yet a yearling. With some luck he could find his old pack and the alpha would let him rejoin it. But who would tell Runt? How would they tell him? Momma wished she could go with him into the woods, help him find his pack, but it was very dangerous for a cat to approach a strange coyote.
“I love the kid, Momma. I really do. I only want what’s best for him.”
“I do too, Fidget.”
The next morning, Momma sought the counsel of Baron, who always seemed to know the right thing to say. But Baron was preoccupied, lying in his flowerbed.
“I’m getting old, Momma. Joints don’t move like they used to. I’m afraid, the time comes, I won’t be able to guard my family.”
“Guard them from what? The people — all of these people — live very safe lives. Certainly now that the wild dogs are gone.”
“Yah, but they’re not gone. Not all of them.” Baron raised his head and drew air. “There’s one still out there. I can smell his mange, mixed with dry blood and strange dirt.”
Momma sniffed the air. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She was confident her sense of smell was better than the old dog’s, but he somehow had a knack for smelling and hearing what no one else could.
“Be careful, Momma. It doesn’t do for a dog to be without his pack. Wild or tame, losing our family can make us awful ornery.” Baron rested his head on the ground. “As for your new pack member, heard he made quite the commotion yesterday.”
“He killed a rabbit.”
“Anyone we know?”
“I don’t think so. Fidget didn’t recognize him.”
Baron chuckled. “Dogs are dogs, Momma, and ki-yotes are just distant cousins.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. No offense.”
“None taken. If I were ten years younger, I’d probably chase you around the yard.” He was talking slower. Falling asleep.
“How old are you?”
“Very old for a dog. Very old...” Baron was asleep.
Momma had not gotten the sage advice she was hoping for but, in his own way, Baron had told her she was right to worry. Runt would soon be at war with his instincts, living in close quarters with four very vulnerable animals.
Momma brushed against her friend, purring. “You’re a good boy, Baron.”
* * *
Copyright © 2025 by Andrew Moore
