Addendum: A Taste for Veal

I try to leave the coyotes alone except for calving time, not liking the killing of anything anymore, believing that too much pressure on the local population will only produce bigger litters and more fertile females in the future. Though inconsistent, I think my process becomes more seasonal and individually selective.

Since posting ‘A Taste for Veal’, I haven’t seen a coyote. Somehow, the word is out. I do see a few tracks padded overnight, over the Kubota’s on my rounds, but none of the inquisitiveness of pups drawn to the scent of afterbirth. Assuming the rifle shots have been associated with the sound of the Kubota, they’ve kept their distance the past three days. Even nighttime serenades have decreased from choruses to duets and trios.

With some perspective, perhaps the coyote’s boldness or its lack of respect for humans spawned my lasting anger. I am these heifers’ provider, protector and midwife, if need be. Perhaps with better timing I might have saved the calf. But it is what it is: a less than attentive mother who’ll not make the cowherd—pretty as she is. But she’s not alone, some didn’t breed, a few aborted or produced stillborn calves. Around the first of December when we brand, we’ll make a sort for town, not wanting to perpetuate these genetics. It’s why we keep so many heifers, knowing we’ll always have some to help pay the pasture rent.

My attitude and behavior towards coyotes evolves a little each fall during calving time, when they’re all fair game in my crosshairs. Some die and some understand to move on to less risky places. With plenty of ground squirrels, rodents and crippled game from hunters and poachers, they are not starving, not forced to kill calves. I want the ones that have a taste for veal.