I want to tell you a story.

What should I tell you about tonight? I say "tonight" because I haven't gone to bed yet. To most people, this is morning. To me, it's still night. I'm just on a different sleep schedule than most people. I remember when I'd be working by this time, when I was employed by good ol' McDonald's. I'd have to be there by 4am. But you know, I actually liked my 4am-1pm shifts, especially on a Sunday. I still smoked cigarettes back then, so I'd go outside on a cold winter morning and smoke a cigarette and enjoy my coffee just before we opened at 5:00. Granted, I rarely got a customer before 5:30, and maybe two or three in that whole first hour, but I loved it. It's so incredibly peaceful at 5am on a Sunday winter morning.
The last time I experienced such a peaceful and calming morning/night was when I took Willie on a walk about a month (maybe five or six weeks) ago. (Hey look! I'm telling you a story like I wanted to!) It was about 3:30am, and it was snowing a decent amount, but there was only a slight breeze. The air was crisp and the snowflakes big and beautiful. The snow crunched under my boots on the unplowed neighborhood streets. Willie peed on every light pole and shoved his snout into the snow in the grass in people's yards, giving him a cokehead-like look to him. I always walk him around the perimeter of the neighborhood, and this night was no exception. We rounded a corner, just over the halfway point in the walk, and I saw a figure in the snowy road ahead of us, maybe 40-50 yards away. I stopped dead in my tracks. It definitely looked canine. I wondered, "Is that a dog? Coyote? Fox?" Sure enough, it was a coyote. Go figure, seeing how the entrance to the preserved forest where they all reside was 20 yards behind us. The thing was probably returning home.
Willie hadn't noticed it yet, but I sure had. He was too busy sniffing around the curb and grass. But then, almost just as the coyote noticed us, Willie perked his ears and stared directly at the coyote. It's odd, he never barked. Just stared, alert and ears perked, head held high. He stood as tall and erect as he could (please no penis jokes) on all fours. I growled loudly at the pesky coyote, and Willie followed suit. I finally resumed walking, and I made my way closer to this "pest," growling, still with Willie mimicking me. I barked. Willie barked.
Quick side note: Willie is about 50 pounds, a medium-to-large dog. This coyote I'd say was roughly 35-40 pounds. Still, Willie would play with it before trying to fight it or defend himself.
So, Doogins and I kept making our way toward this coyote. I made as much noise as I could, barking and growling, and still, Willie followed suit. It's odd, because he only did it when I did. The coyote ran in a big, swooping half-circle through the yard to our left and came out of it behind us. Great, I thought. I was hoping it would just continue its original path and slink back into the woods at the end of the road that was behind us.
But no, it decided to follow us. For the next almost-mile, I tried to keep a safe distance without running or showing fear. I consistently growled and/or barked at this coyote, and Willie echoed each time. I kept my head on a swivel, as any high school football coach would tell his players, searching for coyotes to come out from in between houses or behind bushes. I was ready for an ambush. I was ready to protect my pup. But there were no other coyotes, thankfully. For the most part, the one coyote kept a somewhat-safe distance, say 20-30 yards. It got close a few times, probably 10-15 yards, but nothing too threatening. We had to cut the usual walk short, and take an early turn, and another, and then finally through the neighbor's yard behind my house. We had basically followed the coyote's previous tracks for much of the remaining walk. It kept following us, though. Once I got between the two houses behind mine, where the coyote couldn't see us, we ran a good 15-20 yards to distance ourselves until slowing to a walk before the coyote came into view again. It kept following us between the houses and into my backyard. I opened the back door of the garage and let Willie in, then closed the door behind him, leaving myself outside with the coyote.
It was probably 15 yards away, standing there, staring at me, a hungry look in its eyes. I walked toward it with a puffed chest and determined gait to my step. It picked up on my aggressive stature rather well, and trotted into the next-door neighbor's yard. Unphased, I kept walking toward it, pushing it further away from my house and my pup. I barked and growled a few times more, until it had retreated across the street in front of my house, a few doors down the street, more than a safe distance, until I couldn't see it anymore.
As much as the encounter got my blood flowing, I didn't let it unnerve me. I was wearing steel-toed boots, and I was walking my Doogins. Anyone or anything fucks with my Willie, and you can bet I'm right there to back up my pup and fuck shit up. I was ready to kick that coyote's snout right off its face, and I've got some pretty strong and quick legs.
I find it odd that Willie only barked or growled after/when I did. I'm also surprised that I noticed the coyote first. I know dogs' night vision isn't the greatest, but it's better than ours, and it was a semi-dark figure against a white, snow-covered street. I mean, Willie's closing in on 8 years old (come mid-April), but he shouldn't be losing it this early.
All in all, that night was a special one. Not only was the temperature in the 20s (thus rather bearable) and breezy at best, but beautiful snowflakes floated gracefully downward and littered the streets and yards all around me. Factor in the encounter with the unsuspecting (and then curious) coyote, and you've got yourself a decent tale to tell. I hope it was one worth reading. I've told this story previously, but never in so much detail. I like detail.
Okay, so I've got to get better at closing out these entries. Once I know I'm about done with an entry, I just want to finish it. So yeah, until next time, thank you for reading. Good night!