Dog "promise"

I was preparing breakfast for my two children, Betty and Jamie (ages 12 and 9).

They were outside feeding their calves and rabbits when Jamie burst into the kitchen. "Mommy," he shouted, "Daddy killed a coyote! Just now, in the field, I saw it thrown into the air! '

When Bill is mowing the lawn, he has no patience for animals that get in his way.

Every time the tractor passed it left straight hay and equidistant bales, but ever since Betty and Jamie had found a dead duck in one of the bales, the children had warned him, "Dad, watch out for the quail's nest," Betty said, "watch out for the cats and kittens," and "there's the bunnies," Bill said: "Instead of taking care of the birds and rabbits, I want to feed our cows more and better food!" He went on cutting the grass.

When Bill came in for breakfast, he hung his sweaty hat on the shelf and sat down in a chair by the wood stove. "I think I killed a coyote." "She's pregnant." I shuddered.

Winter is coming. Now hunger afflicts wildlife in the surrounding desert. In the middle of the night I heard the first devilish scream near the chicken pen.

I dressed quickly and rushed out the door. In the beam of light stood an old coxhound with only three legs and his left hind leg missing below the knee. Looks like Bill's tractor took one of his legs, I think.

He was a pitiful, skinny dog, with mouse-like fur and a formerly bushy tail that had become filthy and broken, and he wore neither fear nor surprise, just a wistful expression.

It must be the coyote that walked into Bill's path. How is her cub? The question came to my mind first. I looked around, but I couldn't see any.

Suddenly I knew the tragedy of what had happened to him. It's a carnivore. It's starving to death. Its natural diet is birds, mice, rabbits and insects.

But I also heard coyotes like fruit. Maybe he'll eat dog food with apple slices on it. I wanted to give it a try, so I prepared the first bowl of rice, also for our dog Duke.

The coyote climbed to the bowl and began to gorge. The coyotes appeared several times during the next three months, and I always heard mournful howls from the desolate plain as he ate from Tuk's bowl. After eight weeks of feeding in Duke's bowl, I noticed that his silver-gray coat had turned reddish brown and black, and that his body had grown a little fatter. One morning, I told the girls, "Our coyote looks so much healthier.

I think he's going to get better!" "Do you promise?" Betty asked. "Promise." I said, crossing my fingers. Jamie, who liked to name every living creature on the farm, smiled at me and said, "That's great. Let's call it Promise."

Bill looked over the top of the paper, and the look of joy in his eyes showed that he was becoming more and more interested in the survivor.

The promise came only once after that, and I saw it pregnant again. His coat is much healthier now and his tail is bushy. It wasn't long before I noticed a change in Bill. He had left a piece of alfalfa uncut that day.

"That's where the other stupid duck built his nest," he muttered. A week later, a long-legged rabbit sat among the alfalfa to protest, and Bill's straight-line harvesting turned an Angle.

Finally, one hot August day, while he was bundling grass, he made a surprising discovery. A three-legged coyote appeared at the edge of a field with a little cub.

Promise limped to the tractor, completely unafraid. That night, I heard a coyote growl that reminded me of the promised amber eyes covered with blue cataracts, a sad little face and its teeth flashing.

It was then that I realized how tough our lame coyote was. "I guess you're right," Bill said to me, smiling. "They're survivors, aren't they?"