There was a hummingbird in the yard washing herself in the fountain. A green hummingbird. Last Saturday night I was coming home at 3AM along 31st Ave South. An odd dog in the road with skinny legs and big ears, sketchy. As I got closer, he turned and looked at me while he made for the curb. I slowed down and he faced me. I rolled down the window and exclaimed, "you're a coyote!" as he headed for Frink Park. Like he cared that I identified him. I worry about a posse that will form to capture him because the neigborhood cats are disappearing or someone thinks he is a threat to the kids. So wild, we forget how it used to be.
In Alaska, there aren't many people. It's mostly trees and mountains and snow and glaciers. And lots of critters; salmon so thick in the creeks you have to step on them to get across. Bears and eagles, whales and seals. The West coast looked like that, before we got so crowded, so tame. We banished the coyotes but they are returning. I hope they are smart about it. Caniphobia-fear of coyotes. Zemmiphobia-fear of the great mole rat.