A "Tales from the Trail" post
by Aly MacDonald
You ever have that one friend, like a pint-sized Irish guy, who unexpectedly throws down against some dude getting handsy with you at the bar? After which you walk away impressed, grateful, and forever slightly afraid of him? Let me tell you about one such unlikely hero of Group Hike.
We get a fair number of coyotes in New England, and I’m not generally frightened of them because honestly, I’m more likely to be attacked at a stoplight by an irate driver in a Bruins tank top than I am to be bothered by a wild canine. That said, they can be dangerous to dogs, especially the littles, and so the day we encountered two at close range I was admittedly nervous.
My pack and I were on an off-leash adventure deep in the woods in a place called Mount Misery in Lincoln, Massachusetts when in the distance I could see what I thought was a pair of golden retrievers. It wasn’t until we got closer that I recognized them as coyotes. They noticed me and the other dogs at the same time, but instead of running away as I would have expected, they came closer.
Cheslea, a Tibetan Terrier, somehow instantly knew that they meant trouble and began screaming at their approach like she’d been stabbed, catapulting herself into my legs in abject terror. Bartlet, a chocolate Labrador, reacted in the same unfortunate manner, and all seventy pounds of him then attempted to crawl up my body using muscle and claw. Despite the two terrified dogs threatening to knock me off balance, I began to gesture in dramatic shooing motions to the coyotes while yelling things like, “Hey! Get outta here! Go away!”
The pair were nonplussed, and stared at me with curious expressions that seemed to be evaluating our situation in a way that I didn’t like. They were both adults, one larger than the other, and did look surprisingly like dogs, though up close their movements were decidedly slinkier. Later I figured that since it was after mating season, they were likely a mated pair with a den of pups nearby. Regardless, they were not impressed, and as I continued my antics the larger one actually took a step towards us. They were fairly close now, perhaps fifteen feet away, and in that second I imagined one of them darting in and snatching up little Chelsea. Beginning to feel real fear for the first time, I raised my volume to a holler, but they held their ground.
Spotting Cooper far to my left, it occurred to me that he might be able to frighten them away. He was the largest of my dogs, a Plott hound possessed of an impressive howl, and I had the idea that if he ran at them, they might take off. I called for him then, in a voice that clearly conveyed the urgency.
Cooper glanced up, assessed our predicament and, with impressive unconcern, went back to hunting squirrels.
The coyotes and I eyed each other. Chelsea whimpered. Bartlet trembled. Cooper ignored us all. I was debating my next step when I heard movement behind us.
Cue the superhero music, shine the spotlight. Here comes Charlie, a ten-pound Jack Russel Terrier, the tiniest dog in my pack, his scruffy white body careening through the air with all four paws lifted off the ground at once. With his front legs straight as pins and his back legs in the air, he flew. He soared.
And he was loud. His bark had an intensity, a wildness to it that was truly ear-splitting as he ran past us and directly at the coyotes. On his wiry face there was an expression of pure violence.
In that second our adversaries’ bravado evaporated, and they bolted. You could practically hear them go, Holy Shit! That guy’s crazy!, as they took off like kids caught smoking behind the school, peeling into different directions, throwing terrified looks back over their shoulders. Charlie pursued the larger one, his sights evidently set on taking daddy coyote down a peg.
While relieved that he’d chased away the danger, I was immediately concerned for him. What would happen when the big guy stopped to really look at this minuscule terror, and realized he could take him? I began calling Charlie, scared all over again, but I’ll never forget the look on his face as he trotted up to me, panting like a prize fighter, I did good, Auntie! I told them to fuck off, and they did!
Do you ever look at a group of friends and wonder who would have your back in a fight? Well, I happen to know my champion, and he weighs less than a rabbit.
I leashed up all the dogs (even Cooper, who came trotting nonchalantly to my whistle, like, Treat?), and we headed back to the trail at a fast walk. When I looked behind me, I could still see the big coyote, who had stopped in his tracks to poop.
That’s right. Charlie the tiny terrier had literally scared the crap out of him.
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