I’m beginning to think that my spirit animal is a coyote.
Because clearly, we keep the same schedule.
Over the past few weeks, the weather here has cooled off, and the animals around here have been preparing for the winter. The squirrels have been plumping themselves up on whatever-the-Hell, and the geese have been performing dry runs in the parking lot of the grocery store down the street.
Along with this is the obligatory appearance of more deer, as they migrate from northern Wisconsin, and close on their tracks are the coyote.
Which is fine. I mean, I’m here for coyotes, and shit. Generally.
But what I wasn’t prepared for was all the noise.
Have you ever heard a pack of coyotes, when they all get together and sing the songs of their people? I mean, a real live, standing room only, coyote jam? It involves a lot of screeching, yipping, howling and barking.
Kinda like a Bid Whist game at my family reunion.
Basically, it’s a bunch of wild dogs, all talking over each other, for no fucking reason.
Like me and my friends, after a couple of drinks.
So, what usually sets off this cacophony of wild dog shit-talkery?
But not just any sirens, no. Just the ones that occur sometime between 2 and 5 in the cottdamb morning.
Right around the time I tumble out of deep sleep, for no reason at all.
So, I lay there, in the dark, listening to my canine brothers in the sleepless struggle, as they chatter back at the sirens.
And for some reason, I’m comforted by the sound.
And I am lulled back to sleep.
Soon, they will move on, as they do every year. And during those early morning hours, when I am pulled out of sleep by unseen forces, I will have to endure that time alone.
By the time that happens, I’ll have found another lullaby.
But until then, I’ll lie here, bathed in the green glow of my clock.
And wait for the sirens.