Coyotes will do that

All I was trying to do was enjoy a nice afternoon fishing in the backyard and I kept getting interrupted by that lousy coyote.

"Just ignore it," I said to myself, smearing an index card with hummus and sticking it on the end of my hook. "It just wants attention."

I was only fishing in a creek that didn't really flow or anything, that was only two or three inches deep, and I had never seen any fish in there, but that was hardly the point. The point was more just to get out into nature for a day and if a fish started nibbling at my hummus, great. I didn't really know how to fish--how to work the rod and reel and all that--so the plan was just, when the fish started nibbling at the hummus I had spread on the index card and attached to the end of the hook, to yank the entire thing out of the creek, flip the fish onto the ground and smash it with a rock until it was dead. But mostly, like I said, I was just trying to enjoy nature a little bit.

But then the coyote showed up and started prancing around and sniffing around me and that ruined the whole thing. I knew it was a coyote and not, say, a raccoon, because of its appearance. It had a long nose on a humanish face framed by wild knotted gray fur. And its whole body was covered in this long, thinning gray fur and it stood upright on both feet, which is something coyotes do when they're curious and they want attention, which is something not a lot of people know.

They coyote, I knew, would scare off all the fish and would probably try sticking his nose into my jar of hummus, so I just ignored him and hoped he'd move on, but then my dad stormed out of the garage with the rake and hit the coyote as hard as he could with it right in the thigh. I was mortified, naturally, because all I'd wanted to do was to fish and now Dad had started this whole thing with this coyote and I was worried maybe I would have to get involved and it was just too much hassle to deal with, quite frankly.

The coyote, well, he was pretty upset. After he checked the wound with a confused half-growl (the rake had left rake-prints on his meaty, nearly hairless thigh), he flew into something of a rage, in fact. He started tearing up grass with his teeth and kicking rocks and he knocked over the charcoal grill with his arms (he was still standing on his hind legs, which coyotes tend to do when they're angry, a lot of people don't realize). Then he started chasing after us with his claws out and his teeth showing and Dad yelled RUN and threw the rake at him and we both made for the front door (me nearly forgetting the hummus) and we just barely got inside and shut the door before the coyote caught up with us.

The coyote didn't just trot off after that, of course. He stood there pounding at the door and howling, demanding satisfaction, I guess. I told Dad thanks a lot, for ruining my peaceful afternoon fishing. He said we couldn't have coyotes in the yard because they were dangerous and they were always peeing on our shrubs (true enough) and that what was I complaining about anyway, since I could just fish in the kitchen sink. I turned around and the faucet was running and the sink was nearly full and fish were jumping from one side of it to the other, dozens of fish, nearly choreographed in the way they kept it up without bumping into each other. I told my dad it's not the same but he had grabbed two slices of bread and had caught one of the jumping fish in between and was busy snacking away, so I don't think he was paying attention to me.