They’re as smart as dogs. Or as dumb, or something. But not long ago, I looked up from a book I was reading on our patio right into the eyes of a coyote sitting in the brambly dirt maybe 60 feet away from me. His ears were fully perked up, his black, unblinking eyes were staring right at me; clearly, he’d been sitting there wondering whether or not he could take me. Having just lost a cat to possibly that dastardly dingo, I looked around for something to hurl at him. Finding nothing, I dashed into our apartment and grabbed a few tangerines. Back outside, I respotted the coyote—who hadn’t moved an inch—wound up, and let fly a bullet of a tangerine that, unfortunately, sailed about four feet over Psycho Lassie's head. But instead of responding with, “Whoa! That blind guy’s throwing fruit at me! I better get outta here!” the creature turned and leapt—arching, bounding leaps—in the precise direction the fruit had flown. Near the spot where the tangerine hit ground the animal then stopped, legs locked, and began rather wildly looking about himself. Finding nothing, he then spun and bounded right back to where he’d started. He sat, and began starting at me again—this time with what I couldn’t help but notice amounted to near-manic anticipation.
He wanted me to play fetch with him!
I was just ... I couldn't believe it. For one, talk about adding insult to injury. First he, or one of his pals, eats my cat--and then he wants me to entertain him?
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