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Waking to a coyote alarm clock
They made noise.
Plenty of noise.
That night I'd watched the original "Dracula," black and white and campy as ever, 75 years after its debut. I noticed something during this viewing that I'd not heard before.
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They want you to believe that it's the sound of wolves you hear baying from a distance in the famous Bela Lugosi version. I know better. The same small, sleek and skulking pointy-nosed wild dogs that sleep in our meadow during cool autumn nights made the sounds you hear in that horror movie.
That creepy sound has shaken me from a dead sleep on several nights.
A few years ago, after several times being awakened, the coyotes and I made an agreement. According to the pact, they receive one night's lodging and in return cause no problems.
If not, I get out of bed, wake everybody in the neighborhood with the sound of rifle shot and then spend the next week explaining how I could "miss those coyotes from that close and still manage to hit the barn."
We have a henhouse, a natural target for the coyotes. A friend who raises sheep told me that donkeys are the coyotes' natural enemy. If you want to get rid of roaming night snackers, he explained, get yourself a donkey.
"Really?" I asked him. "And then how do I get rid of the donkey?"
The smell of the henhouse may attract the coyotes, but they stay the night for the taste of rabbits. The rabbits are not happy. The hens aren't exactly thrilled, either. They don't sleep much on coyote visitation night.
"Losing sleep is better than sharing your roost with a donkey," I've explained.
I've grown used to the howling, one night at a time. After the initial surprising, woken-from-a-dead-sleep moments when we first moved to the farm, I haven't been bothered by the coyotes that much.
Until this past weekend.
Curse you, Dracula!
My head hit the pillow. The light switch behind my eyes was flipped to "off" and Lugosi floated by for a visit. As I slept and dreamed, Bela explained something about how the cat food was old and I was late for a test. Don't ask me. It was a dream.
I sat up in bed, jolted by high-pitched baying at the moon.
"What's wrong?" mumbled my wife.
"A vampire said our cat food's spoiled," I explained as the coyotes cried.
"No wonder you can't sleep. Listen to your stomach! It sounds like it's howling! I told you to leave that candy alone.
