Jilly the Coyote Dog and her friend, Genghis

April 21st, 2008,  a Monday

It's not easy being a bear with a blog.  It's hard to get people to take you seriously.  I'll bet you would say it's not easy being you either.  For a million reasons no doubt.  Probably less.  But I know for sure it's not easy being Jilly the Coyote Dog. 

Jill was only 6 weeks old when we found her way out on Happy Valley Road in the desert foothills.  It was the very first day the litter of puppies went up for sale (more like adoption).   There was no mother or father dog in sight at first and then this dog (sorta) came wandering in from the direction of the hills, straggling in, after what seemed like a long, hard night.  Sort of the way a woman who worked all night may look at the end of her shift, if she worked the streets.  She wasn't pretty, or a pretty sight, and looked irritated that she had to lay down and let those darned puppies have their breakfast at her expense.  Even though Jill was hungry like her brothers and sisters, she had already figured out that we were a far better potential meal ticket than her mother would ever be so she let the others rush to eat and stayed back to hang out with us.  We were impressed with how cunning she was.  In hindsight, we were had by an animal whose instincts were far more impressive than our need to find a cute little puppy who seemed to really like us. 

We asked the breeder (not exactly) who the father was and she said she was pretty sure it was the Queensland Heeler one acre over.  (Far from an arranged marriage if you know what I mean.)  So we took one last suspicious glance at Jill's mother who was supposed to be an Australian Shepherd (yeah, right) and took the cunning little Jilly home in a small pink basket. 

It wasn't long before Jilly had the biggest ears ever.  The lady in the foothills told us not to worry, that she would "grow into them".  We took Jill to the vet and he looked puzzled.  When we explained everything we knew so far, he said there was no doubt in his mind that she was at least half coyote, maybe more.  That would explain her mother's all nighters in the foothills.  She was either part coyote herself or her boyfriends were of the coyote persuasion or....there is no point in further speculating on Jilly's pedigree.  Yes, we had to face it.   We were the proud new owners of a wild animal.  Barely domesticated, the vet said. 

She let us know right away that she was a pack animal.  Something about the alpha male.  She was only submissive to the pack leader.  (Too bad for the rest of us.)  If someone in the family was out at night, she stood watch at the front window until they came home, hearing the sound of the car more than a block away, and wouldn't sleep until they arrived safely.  She was a scavenger by nature.  Once she had food in her possession, if you tried to take it away, you could lose your hand.  Sweet little Jilly would gnarl, show her teeth, and attack if you dared even suggest that she shouldn't have it.  (Many a time she cornered a poor vicitm who was not an alpha male.)  Under her Australian Shepherd coat was a layer of rusty brown.  She could catch anything in her mouth showing off hand/eye coordination that athletes only dream about.  She could smell marijuana a mile away and sometimes when friends of the boys would come over under the influence, Jilly would give them up.  She was high strung, our Jilly girl.  Always vigilant.  Never completely at peace. 

Then Rusty showed up (see April 7th entry).  He was not welcome by our Jilly and she let him (and us) know it.  Rusty was everything she wasn't.  He had a loving, sweet, trusting nature and was affectionate with anyone who would give him the time of day.  He didn't bother Jill because he sure knew better than that.  He kept his distance patiently but his big heart really began to change her.  She calmed down a lot but would never admit that Rusty had anything to do with that.  In exchange, she taught him to catch food in his mouth because she was an expert and at first the food would hit him right in the nose.  She actually learned to love him in her way.

When Jill had to have surgery on her knee, she came home all bandaged up, retired to the dragonfly room, and hibernated there until she was completely healed and then came back out to join the family.  

Since Rusty died, Jill has kept vigil at the front gate, waiting for him to come home.  She has gone back to pacing and panting non-stop, always on edge.  That is her way of mourning, of missing him.  

Jilly is very old now, 13 this year, but I still have a healthy fear of her.  She has lost her amazing coyote hearing and her eyes are cloudy even though she can still catch a piece of toast no matter how bad the toss.  She gets up real slow and one day decided she would never go up and down the stairs again and hasn't since.  She still loves to lay right beside me when I am writing my blog like she is right now, making sure I am safe.  I don't think Jill has ever wanted to be like she is but her instincts have always had their way with her.  She just wants to be loved but it's hard for her.  We do love her for exactly who she is.  After all, she can't help it if her mother was a wild animal.  Kind of like most of us.  We want to behave differently than we do sometimes.  And we can be influenced by good people, just like Jilly the Coyote Dog was by Rusty.  But we still misbehave.  Depending on where we straggled in from. 

GR