Not a Fox, Not a Wolf

 

            “Not a fox.
            “Not a wolf,
            “Not a fox.
            “Not a wolf,” Jumpstart sang his song as he loped airily through the forest. He rarely touched the earth it seemed, so light was his step. “Not a fox!”
            The bowl of venison that the mother had given him sat exceedingly well. It was true.
            But then, something rustled underneath some dry leaves.
            “Come out, Little One! Not a wolf!” murmured Jumpstart.
            “Are you fox? I’ll not come out!” said the field mouse.
            “Not a fox!” said Jumpstart.
            A pair of bright black eyes peeped out. As quick as a breath it was over for the fat mouse!
            Coming up out of the forest, he rounded the large metal box. Then there was pavement, and a building. There was a truck and two cars. He saw no one, so Jumpstart went ahead.
            Sunlight warmed his yellowish fur. It felt good after the shade of the forest. A brief thrust of wind ruffled his fur. A flea took a bite. The asphalt was warm and almost smooth under his pads.

            “Not a wolf,” he sang, under his breath.
            Jumpstart trotted around the ranger station building, just checking it out. The asphalt was swept clean. There was nothing to interest him. He went on.
            The wind brought him news. He stopped and attended to it. There was the scent of wood rot, leaf mold, small hidden life. He smelled living blood, breath, and vegetal dung. But there was this too, cooking smells from further down toward the campground. Hot smells of meat and fat, with beer and sweet drinks. His nose drew him there. For the moment he ignored the sweeter, more redolent scent reaching him from way down the wind. But he didn’t forget it either.
            His tongue lolled while he calculated his chances. “Men are slow, but many are watchful,” he thought cannily to himself.
            Ralph's great black Raven flew low over Jumpstart. She circled twice, but said nothing. He watched her ascend to the treetops and vanish into the sky. “The king’s bird,” he thought, and went on.
            Jumpstart didn’t like fire. But he thought that since it was a small fire, he could work around it. It was a little fire in some metal thing, at the back end of a car. He had seen a lot of cars, that ran up and down the roads and then rested. This one was resting. There were two chairs behind it by the fire. One chair held a woman, who was doing something with the food on the fire.
            It smelled mostly raw. Beef. Bloody.
            “She is slow. Can’t catch Jumpstart!,” he mused. 

            “Not a fox!” he assured himself.
            She looked up from her fiddling and saw him, four or five parking spots away, watching her.
            “Bruce!” the woman called. “There’s some kind of dog thing out here staring at the tri tip!”
            A man came around to see what the woman was talking about.
            “What is that thing?” she said.
            “Not a fox, too big. Not a wolf, too small, Marv!” said Bruce. “I don’t know. Maybe some kind wild mutt mix. Maybe part German Shepherd!”
            “I don’t care what it is! You better do something, or go tell those rangers there’s some kind of wild thing hanging around,” said Marv, getting up. Maybe she wanted to hide in the car. Bruce turned his back for a moment, looking around for a rock to throw. But the asphalt was devoid of rocks, so he took off into the brush to search for a projectile.
            This was Jumpstart’s moment! Right in front of Marv, he nipped the tri tip off of the fire, even though it was hot on one side, and he split. It was like he had never been there. But he had, and the meat was gone.
            “Dammit, Bruce,” said Marv.
            Bruce turned around just in time to watch the creature run away with his dinner.
            Jumpstart ran and ran and ran, laughing as only Coyote can laugh, deep in his heart, for he had pulled off a caper. He had bested Man. It was sweet and he laughed all the way to Uncle Bob’s Stump House meadow.
            Seeing Uncle Bob deep in thought, and Aunt Suzie making something with strips of green bark, he stopped briefly. They were both too distracted to see a sly coyote slipping by their Stump House.
            He circled around behind them and loped deeper into the meadow. He lay the now cooled meat down on the grass in an open spot and looked all around himself, his ears alert, and his yellow eyes shining. A hundred scents came to him, and his clever nose read them all. There were covert scents from down in the earth, living things and roots, and decay. There were floral scents, and viny, or grassy scents. It was almost dizzying. He smelt rabbits and gophers too! And he hadn’t forgotten that other scent either, the one from long away, faint but demanding.
            He put his head down and began to eat the meat, glancing up once in a while to make sure that he was alone. No competitor for his catch appeared.
            “Not a fool!” he thought happily.
            When he had eaten it all he looked up again, and like a sudden mirage, that mighty Raven was standing nearby watching him.
            “I saw her, Jumpstart. Why are you wasting time stealing meat? I saw her up near town, that way,” said Maeve, and she pointed the way with her beak.
            “You have better business to attend to,” she said. “Time to grow up.”
            “I will find her!” yipped Jumpstart, running as fast as he could.
            “Go your way, Coyote. Find her, and be blessed,” said Maeve, softly, and with sympathy.
            She watched him disappear off to the north.

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