The Wrong Side of the Food Chain (part II)

Wolves are an adaptable predator. In fact, they really aren’t even Wolves anymore. Even though that’s what we call them here in the Eastern United States. I’ve read stories about the Wolf and how she has evolved. Over the course of time, Coyotes from the West have migrated into the East. The rather large Wolf never used to crossbreed with the Coyote. The two Species remained separate, with the Coyote being superior in intellect and cunning and not very finicky about their dining experience. The Wolf has superior size and strength, relying upon athleticism and physical prowess. The Wolf is often attracted to larger game. Over the course of time, with mixing and mingling, The Coyotes and Wolves have begun to breed with one another. With the Wolf’s physical characteristics, and the Coyote’s incredible adaptability, a sort of Super Species has been created. This hybrid creature has thrived. And because they are half-Coyote, they are not always picky about what they eat. And because they are half-Wolf, they have the ability to hunt larger game. And when they are hungry, they adapt their skills, and they accommodate themselves.

This Super Species of half-Coyote and half-Wolf has been causing serious problems along the trails of the Eastern United States. I’ve only read all of this and heard stories, but now it looks like I might actually have a real encounter of my own. I move cautiously down the trail, afraid to be afraid, because I know that I need to stand strong. I just need to make myself big, real big. And I know that there’s a predator gaining on me.
I glance over my shoulder, catching the faint wisp of a gray shadow in the trees. I can see the figure of a canine. The animals have tracked me down and are now close. I stop in the middle of the trail and quickly jump out of my skis. I turn and face the dogs, trying to stand as large as I possibly can. I puff my chest and slap my hands together creating noise. I yell “Let’s go, reaching down and grabbing one of my cross-country skis, cupping it like a baseball bat. I’m scared but I can’t afford to be. I know the animals will only feed upon my fear. I see their silhouettes coming very close. I see their eyes looking me over. “Let’s go,” I yell again, taking a practice swing. I square my shoulders and puff my chest, gripping the ski tightly. If I’m going down, I’m going down fighting. These wolves are going to have to work for their meal.