Two nights in the trees with the coyotes whimpering and cackling in the fields below me. A cow is nervous tonight, he's lowing quietly to himself.
When you listen close, there's a complex language in those coyote sounds. Long ululations die down into moans, a sharp yap, a baby crying, all over top of each other. It's hard to remember they're just wild dogs and not four-legged demon children with woman heads and snake eyes, like something out of the Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual.
I seem to recall that a coyote pack usually sounds larger than it actually is. When i was a kid, coyotes used to hang out on my street under the street lamps, trying to lure Subdivision Dogs in for meat.
Now Farmhouse Dogs are barking back, angry and afraid. Moths thump against the lampshade of my shack, an unseen squirrel scratches a loud path through the rafters, coming to rest in the roof directly above me.
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