When Coyotes Attack

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Coyotes, unlike wolves, are basically cowards. They are more a snatch and go predator. When confronted by one dog or more the same size or larger they will turn tail and run unless they are really hungry or protecting their kill. Their strength is in their pack size. Their packs are familial with an alpha male and female.

Now our homestead is on a hilly, northeast Georgia mountains. Just a mere fifteen miles away, you can go white water rafting. Coyotes abound all around these parts. There's not a night that goes by that we don't hear their yips and howls. Our dogs, Nnyus, Kassity, and Herbie are always on watch. Herbie, our terrier mixed dog, usually stays on the porch, protects the house, and sounds the alarm while the two bigger dogs take care of the business end of chasing them off our property or fight them if necessary.

Well, it was late Friday night, when Herbie rushed outside barking. Nnyus had to be released from her bed in Mel's room. The door is closed to keep all 80 pounds of Kassity off Mel's bed. Mel did that and both larger dogs went outside. It was maybe a minute or two behind the terrier. The dogs were going nuts barking and growling. Something was out there for sure and close.

It was then that we heard a high pitched yelping. We thought one of the coyotes had gotten the German Shepherd (10-week old) puppy from up on the rise (Geronimo and Reynaldo's place). The puppy considered our place his as our our dogs consider their place theirs. Mel grabbed the shotgun, still in PJs mind you, and went outside. There was a huddle of barking and fighting canines on the first tier of the orchard. It's about 100 feet from my bedroom window. On seeing Mel, the pack scattered with Nnyus and Kassity in hot pursuit.

Eventually, Kassity and Herbie came inside. Nnyus was keeping guard at the property line if her barking was any indication. I asked Mel to bring in a load of firewood. I told her goodnight and put my glass in the dishwasher when she came back in. "Who's bleeding?"

Those words Mel uttered sent chills up my spine. She went to Kassity to check her out while I took Herbie. Herbie and Mel have a love/hate relationship. He always growled and tried to snap at her when it was not rough house playtime. At 1 AM, it was definitely not playtime. I started with his head and paws, they were the usual places. A little bit of blood was on his neck, but not the amount we saw looking at the carpet. I ran my hand down his shoulders. Nothing. Then I saw it. A skin flap about six inches across. It was flipped over to where the flesh side was showing. "It's Herbie!" I yelled to Mel. She rushed over.

While Mel talked to him in low tones and held pressure to the wound, I got 6x 6 gauze pads, 6" roll of gauze, and the Blue antibiotic liquid. He scared me. Herbie didn't growl or bare his teeth at Mel. He just laid there. I knew the little 22 pound dog was really hurt. I needed to stitch the wound but I only had a limited amount of sutures in my kit. I grabbed the roll of dental floss, a curved darning needle, and scissors. I returned to Herbie. I sat with him surveying the damage while Mel grabbed some towels and alcohol.

This trailer has no overhead lights except for the kitchen, bedrooms, and bathrooms so I dragged him in the kitchen. It was only about five feet. While I could see the wound better, there still wasn't enough light to cut back his long fur and stitch him up. I do not play well with scissors since my strokes. To get out the electric shears would stress him out more. His skin was so loose that it would take two hands to hold it to place the stitches. He was going into shock.

There was no doubt in our mind what had happened to him. The coyotes had attacked the little dog thinking he was easy prey. He had several bites to show he wasn't such an easy prey. But from the way the skin had stretched away from his flesh and the gash from his belly to almost his spine, the little dog didn't stand a chance against a dozen coyotes. The yelping we heard was his. His big dog mentality in spite of his small stature was his undoing. He had also spent over half his life as a city dog with almost no experience with wild creatures. The coyotes, to him, looked just like dogs, but they weren't. In those brief minutes where he was alone with them before Nnyus and Kassity arrived, the coyotes did quite a bit of damage.

Mentally, I went over my treatment for shock...keep warm, reassurance, and fluid replacement for blood loss. It was just the basic ABCs of first aid (airway, breathing, circulation). His airway was fine. His breathing was shallow and rapid. His bleeding was oozing and slowing down. I estimated blood lose to be 1/4 of a pint at best. Not a huge amount even for such a small dog. Other than being almost fully degloved from his shoulders to his hips no arteries had been severed. I didn't know about internal injuries but he didn't appear to have a punctured lung.  He also didn't appear to have any broken bones. I couldn't be sure without x-rays.

Without the ability to shave him or stitch him up, we just bandaged him up after cleaning his wounds. Living in such a small town, there were no 24-hour vets. But, ours did have Saturday hours. I sat up with Herbie until 5 AM rubbing his head, the bridge of his nose, tousling his ears, and talking to him about the rats still left for him to catch, etc. At that point, the adrenaline had long past worn off. I was past exhausted after being awake for 26 hours. I went to bed. He'd either die while I slept or live to go to the vet's office later in the morning.

Herbie at my feet

I heard Mel get up and talk to him before I finally dragged myself out of bed. Mel took him to the vet's office. I wanted to go, but there was a fire to tend to and other animals to care for. Even though this dog was officially hers and her mother's before her, he attached himself to me for the last four years. He'd go with me outside and stay with me until I came in. He rested by my feet inside or jumped up on the couch next to me. Every night he slept in my room. He waited for me to greet him every morning. He was my companion in everything except for the rough house play he did with Mel.

It honestly would have taken too long for me to get dressed to go. I wanted him cared for now. So I had an agonizing wait. I knew we couldn't afford a huge vet bill. We are barely treading water as it is and still haven't found Mel a replacement truck or jeep. Finally, Mel returned without Herbie. I looked at her questioning. If she had to put him down, she would have had his body. She said the vet could fix Herbie for $385. It was less than she thought so she paid her. The vet would stitch him up and give him IV fluids and antibiotics. She wanted to give him his rabies booster, but Mel said no because his little body was going through enough right now. She'd call us later but would keep him overnight for observation.

The vet called us later saying Herbie had come through all the patch work. There was something wrong with his hind quarter but he walked around their grassy compound. He was drinking but not eating. She put in four drains to help the skin adhere to his flesh again. But he was ready to go home on Sunday. We could pick him up around 9AM.

Buoyed the fantastic news, Mel and I discussed ways to help Herbie heal. His spine issues (hind quarters) could just be swelling or traumatized nerves. We would have to wait and see. Then, we discussed cheaper options for her chicken farm and alternatives. We slept peacefully that night, but excited for Herbie's homecoming.

At 8 AM, the vet called to say Herbie died during the night. This is what happens when coyotes attack.

Today, we went and picked up his body. We buried him under the old rabbit hutches. We'll be planting hedge roses there this spring to deter predators from the new chicken run near the house for the flock of chicken that we hatch out this winter. Herbie would like that.  RIP Herbie, my faithful friend.

Y'all have a blessed day!

Cockeyed Jo

RIP Logan

On my other blog, my stroke recovery blog, I talked about the piles Logan left for me on the carpet each morning and evening. It made walking in the small hallway between the rest of the house my bathroom and my bedroom a precarious adventure. It has been this way for months since I removed the litter box from my bathroom. It's not that he wasn't outdoor trained or that he couldn't get outside, it was because he was stubborn and liked the convenience of having a litter box right inside. He didn't have to brave whatever weather was outside.

His stools were noticeably loose. He had chewed his fur off leaving bald and sometime bloodied area of skin exposed, but he did that every summer. Usually, his thick black coat would return in the late fall and winter. He had allergies and was like this every year. He was a peculiar cat.  He was a Manx, born without a tail. Pure black with yellow eyes which reminded me of two moons shining on a black night. He was a beautiful cat. He belong to Mel's mother before she died so Mel inherited him.

He became a service cat. He could sense when your blood sugar was too high or too low. It was a perfect attribute for Mel's mother and me who both had diabetes. To everyone else, he was a pest because he would yowl and pester them until he got to smell their breath. If he sensed that the person's blood sugar was normal, he snuggled up to be petted or leave you alone. If your blood sugar was not normal, too high or too low, he'd bite you. Not hard at first, just enough to get your attention. If your ignored him, the bites and pestering would get more intense. He'd bite me long before I ever felt the symptoms of my blood sugar being too low. A much better glucometer than any brand and he didn't need batteries.

 Earlier this week, I was making the rounds of the household animals. I caught Logan crouched in the hallway ready to leave another present for me to step in or have to clean up. I yelled and literally at kicked him. My foot missed him by several inches. I would never hurt an animal on purpose  other than butchering them for our needs. I figured I'd made my point. He ran outside through the pet door. It was later in the evening, when I noticed he wasn't on the breakfast table with the other cats trying to grab some extra warmth from the wood stove. I asked Mel if she had seen him. She hadn't since earlier in the day.

The next morning, still no Logan. We both, Mel and I, canvassed the property looking for him. We eventually found his body by the wood shed. What exactly killed this cat, we have no idea. He must have been sicker than we thought. So we are down another cat on the homestead. Not that we are lacking puddy cats here. There is still Whirling Dervish, Flynn, Lil Bit, and Patches to keep us company.

Still, I'll miss Logan. Darn, now I've got to put batteries in my glucometer. I haven't had to worry about it in almost two years. Not that my blood sugar is that high anymore with my diabetes, but low blood sugar can kill you just as fast. RIP Logan.

Y'all have a blessed day.