We’ve been watching fawns – mostly on camera, because the grass is tall enough to keep them hidden. Yesterday evening was the first fawn leg. Coyotes. Fawns are cute – and they are easy prey. On one hand, I can look at the predator-prey cycle – a coyote sure as hell isn’t going to take down the bull elk I occasionally watch in the field. On the other hand, there is something about the fawn that screams “Cute.” On the third hand (why limit this anthropomorphically?) I suspect that I kind of like coyotes. I have never hit a standing coyote with a centerfire rifle. I have hit impossible shots at coyotes with revolvers. I’ve hit coyotes that were out of range for shotguns and 22s. But when I try for an easy shot with a centerfire rifle, I miss. After nearly sixty years of failure, I’ve reached the conclusion that I must like coyotes and my subconscious mind keeps me from hitting them. And if I can’t trust my own subconscious mind, whose can I trust?
A few years ago my fawn predator was a tiny black bear – he came out of hibernation with his coat hanging on him like a leaky Mae West lifejacket, survived by hitting the remains of every possible winter road kill, and then, single-minded, hunted down every fawn he could find. I think he missed three. He was a fawn predator – but a cute one, and so small that he should have been doing a second year with his mother. Somehow, I kind of liked watching him, despite my fondness for fawns. The nice thing was that as he grew larger, he moved away and (at least for me) never became a problem bear.
So the coyotes will continue preying on fawns – whether I like it or not. And I don’t
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