It's a very "country" sort of neighborhood. Two weeks ago I stood at the end of the cul de sac, where our house sits, and talked to my two neighbors about the ripe tomatoes Jack, one of the neighbors, dropped off at our house two days before, and the basil that he's currently growing at the end of his driveway.
In fact, it's so country that Jack said, "Linsley, if you all like basil, just come over and cut some. There's no need to ask, just take what you want." It's country in a such a good sort of way.
I've also talked a bit about the possibility of coyotes.
Well, I took the coyote warning with a grain of salt. Had we heard them in the woods? Sure. There was a strange howling very early in the morning or very late at night, but I have to admit that I just chalked it up to neighboring dogs.
We do live in the middle of the city, so it's not unbelievable that we might hear dogs from nearby neighborhoods.
Or so I told myself until this morning.
Dave and I, being the only two people in a two bathroom household, do not share a bathroom. He uses the hall bathroom and I use the "master bath". The master bath is actually much smaller than the hall bathroom, but Dave gets up earlier than me, so he has the space that fits our lifestyle. I use the smaller bathroom in the bedroom.
My bathroom has a window looking out on the backyard. The backyard is quite small with a goldfish pond and, frankly, not a whole lot more.
There I stood having finished drying and straightening my hair and putting a bit of texturizing product on. I turned to wipe my hands on the towel at the back of the door.
As I do each morning, I looked out the window as I completed this task and saw, actually saw with my own two eyes, a coyote drinking out of our goldfish pond. Granted there are no goldfish in it and it's completely filled with leaves, but it's there not 20 feet from our deck and there was a coyote.
Plain...As...Day.
A coyote. Right there. It stared at me. I stared at it. Really. There we stood looking at each other for at least a minute. He'd seen me and he knew that I'd seen him.
I stepped into the bedroom to look out of another window, and he still stared at me. I wished like hell a camera was close, because seriously this thing was certainly NOT a tame dog.
It was a coyote. And he looked just like this only the coat wasn't as dark, but his hair was just as scraggly and his face was a dead ringer:
You'd better believe that the camera will always stay close to the bathroom. If only because I can't be the only person who sees what I saw this morning.
L.
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