Sgt. Smokey Joe and the Coyotes

I just saw my big black dog, Smokey Joe, in action, and decided it was time for his promotion. I’ll promote him from mere Corporal of Cats, to Master Sergeant of the Manzanita Horse Camp.  I’ll skip all those other kinds of sergeants, and send him right to the top. Well, maybe I’d better reconsider, because I was in the Navy, and if I am assuming powers of promotion that could mean that Smokey Joe is a Navy dog. Maybe he should be Chief Dog. Naw – he is strictly a landlubber.

Smokey Joe went outside at break of dawn this morning to check the perimeters, and then he went on guard in his usual spot in the driveway where he can spy out the land in all directions. The cats and I dozed back off to sleep, knowing we were safe from invasion.

But that did not last long. Suddenly a pack of coyotes lifted their noses into the morning air singing from the vantage point of their stage in the sage to the northeast. They sang enthusiastically with shrill voices wavering into yips and kye-yi-yis and maybe a yippee or two in there somewhere.

Naturally, all of Daughter Jane’s rescued dogs - 2 pit bulls, 4 half pit bulls, a black shepherd, and a Maltese terrier, felt compelled to join in the chorus. But, not my Smokey Joe. He streaked towards that pack of songsters - well maybe streaked is not the word. He weighs about 125 pounds, and I guess lumbered is a better description. Anyhow, he was eager, and his tail was going fast. All the other dogs cheered in their differing barking voices from their fenced yard; double fenced in the case of the pit bulls in their kennels. Smokey Joe is the other dog's patrolman too, and as much as they would like to join the chase, most of them can’t be trusted to limit their attacks to coyotes, and must remain forever, only spectators.

The pupils of the cat's eyes dilated as they moved closer to me and we watched out the windows. Smokey Joe ran up to the edge of the arroyo that divides our territory from that of the coyotes, and there he stopped short, still looking eastward. The concert had stopped.

Maybe the songsters had fled in terror at the approach of that large, black, slavering dog that has been chasing them in vain all the seven years of his life. I don’t really think so. I think they just faded into the chaparral to laugh at him. They probably sense Smokey Joe is a lover not a fighter whose intent has always been to catch up and make friends with them.

 But, I feel confident that Smokey Joe would attack, if necessary, to keep any bold and wily coyote out of our territory. When any of my cats are outdoors, he usually tries to stay with them when they head off into the brush and rocks, looking for better hunting grounds, and he tries his best to herd them back to safety. For whatever the reason, Sgt. Smokey Joe’s presence outdoors during the day keeps the coyotes at bay. At night, when all of us are locked safely inside, it is another story.