Full moons are always an event in my life.
The last full moon, in March, our long-awaited shiny black Irish Dexter calf was born.
We named her Luna.
Full moons always make me sleep deprived.
I simply want to experience it.
All of it.
I don’t think I’m the only one.
I see Rustic Russ out in our pre-dawn moonlit horse pasture this morning.
The sun hasn’t risen yet.
But Rustic Russ has…
Coffee cup in one hand and empty feed bag in the other, Rustic Russ is on a mission.
In an effort to further train our young Mustang, beautiful shiny black Nauish (pronounced Now-eesh), Rustic Russ rubs an empty feed bag over the boy.
Twice a day, our horses get a hearty helping of alfalfa cubes in addition to their hay.
And twice a day Nauish gets rubbed with the empty bag that carried the treat.
Spook training ~ Rustic Russ style.
Some days are not a concern.
Some days that empty feed bag is a villain.
Last night, the full moon circled around the Wee House, shining brightly through the stained glass windows, making night feel like a dreamy day.
This morning, our sled dog turned farm watch dog, Scooby, was on alert before sunrise outside the Wee House, as she stretched her legs from a nice sleep by the spring wood fire within.
From my vantage point at my computer, I could see her body stiffen as she scanned across the field toward the north.
Now, let me take a moment to tell you what I’ve learned over the years. If you really want to see what’s going on around you, watch your animals.
I can always tell where Rustic Russ is on the property by watching where the house dogs are located.
If I want to see what is coming out of the thick forest, I watch the reaction of the horses and look in the direction of their concern. Turkey? Stray dog passing through? Most often, I can’t see what they are seeing, or hearing, which to me, is more exciting at times.
Same goes for Scooby. Her body tells a story.
Early this morning, in the early morning moonlight, she let me know we had company.
A visitor.
Canis latrans.
Better known as a Coyote.
It’s not the first time.
We have had coyotes snatch our prized free-ranging rabbits, my favorite rooster, Stubby, and several robust chickens who wandered too far from the core of our farm.
And yes, we hear them. Most nights.
I’m sure they appreciate the sled dog’s responsive howl. All 16 of them.
This winter, a pair of coyotes trotted within a few feet of the Wee House one morning while I was getting ready to head out the door.
Another morning, several weeks ago, a single coyote trotted past the Wee House, down through the horse pasture, causing Nauish to do nothing more than stare.
That action made me swallow hard.
Mustangs react. They know their surroundings and are always on alert.
By Nauish not reacting, it told me a story.
It told me he was used to the coyotes sharing his field.
Gulp.
This morning, Scooby watched. Stiffened her posture. Then barked her protective bark.
The beautiful thick-coated coyote stood, watching Scooby and standing firm, for a handful of seconds, then turned and trotted parallel to our property, glancing back only once.
Scooby stood ground, silent, and watched the retreat as her canine cousin slowly went out of sight.
Yes, my gun was handy.
Yes, it was loaded.
No, I can’t. I won’t.
First, they resemble our treasured sled dogs.
If I was attempting to save our calf, dear precious Luna, who is already venturing about, then yes, but with trepidation.
Truth be told, I’m fascinated by the Canis latrans.
I always have been.
Capable of a running speed of 43 mph and jumping over 13 feet, they are amazing creatures.
Breeding should have occured by now, wrapping up the end of March.
Females are heavy with pups in their belly. 63-day gestation. Same as dogs.
Some have had litters as large as 19 pups. Coyotes have a unique ability to procreate at great numbers, should their numbers become low due to mortality issues.
The pups will be born soon, and stay with the parents until fall.
The mates remain together, monogamous, for several years, outlasting many human relationship records.
And, unlike wolves, mother coyotes will tolerate other lactating females in the pack.
Coyote.
The hunted.
The hated.
For me, they are a link to nature’s purist form of animal.
One of my full moon fascinations.
Until tomorrow ~ and the next full moon ~ God willing,
Woodswoman
