Monday Blues: Mangy Cur

 Apparently a few miles makes all the difference in the world. It kept a great distance between us and, finally, giving up on the hope that my relentless pursuit up the trail would end, veered off onto a street of the surrounding neighborhood. But not before I could snap a couple sketchy photos of the mangy cur. 

There seems to be a great difference in the health of the coyotes of San Antonio Canyon in comparison to those of Cucamonga Canyon. The one yesterday, shyly keeping well ahead of my churning wheels, with a matted, clumped coat of flea ridden fur was clearly not well; thin, perhaps bordering on emaciation, I could read the dejection in its drooping ears. In contrast, my weekly rounds through the wash and lower canyon closer to home have, all year long, revealed a healthy group of howlers, full coats, upright pointed ears, congregating or prowling alone when it suits them. 

For many years we had a volunteer at the museum, Bob, who had retired after selling the business he had built up following the war (WWII). He lived comfortably in a nice house in the Hollywood Hills, where he took pleasure listening to the coyotes whenever they came by (which was often). When Bob didn't hear them for a while he would grow worried, and tell me that he feared that they might have been poisoned or otherwise trapped and killed. I don't know how many of his neighbors with missing cats shared his concern, but I got the impression he didn't put a greater value on the one over the other.

Humans have done a fair job creating this image, a false dichotomy, of separation between two worlds - the human world, and the world of every other living thing. Sometimes those creatures, like coyote, who try to survive on the border between the two thrive, while others of their fellows do not.

The Monday Blues has been an occasional feature here at the blog since inception; the blues, an emotion, a color, a genre of music, with a cycling twist.