‘New’ neighbor not going away anytime soon
- John Lorson: The Rail Trail Naturalist
- May 24, 2022
- 651
A female coyote stalks the tall grass for a meal for both herself and her pups. With a typical springtime litter of six in the den, both mother and father coyote spend a lot of time on the hunt in order to provide.
If there’s one wild animal in our area that’s far more often heard than seen, it’s the coyote. Sometimes referred to as the most vocal wild animal in all of North America, the coyote’s Latin name, Canis latrans, translates to English as barking dog.
When I have the opportunity to speak to groups of school-age children about wildlife, I’m always amazed at the number of hands that shoot upward when I ask if anyone has ever heard a coyote. The wary canine’s broad range of nighttime yips, yaps and howls are common and unmistakable.
When I ask the follow-up question — How many of you have ever seen a coyote? — the number of hands always drops precipitously. There are always plenty of students here in Wayne and Holmes counties that have spotted the creature running along a field edge, paralleling a ditch line or even crossing the lawn. These same students are often shocked when I tell them that if someone had asked those very same questions of my class when I was their age, not a single hand would have gone up.
While I frequently lead such talks with stories of the animals that were present here in Ohio some 200 years ago when European settlers began to arrive (gray wolf, black bear, cougar), the coyote isn’t a part of the discussion. That’s because the species never lived in our area until over 100 years after the rest of those animals had been driven out by homesteaders fearful of the toll that large apex predators could take on their livestock.
Nature, it is said, abhors a vacuum, and the wholesale removal of a creature at the top of the food chain opens up an unchallenged opportunity for some species that may be waiting in the wings. The coyote was ready to fill that niche. An incredibly adaptable predator, the coyote was found from the Great Plains west in pre-Columbian America. Though not as large as the gray wolf or cougar — either of which would kill a coyote in a chance encounter — when its competition was removed, the clever and adaptable began an eastern expansion of its range.
Research shows the coyote arrived in our area beginning in the 1940s and 1950s, but it’s unlikely anyone other than folks in the most rural of areas would have heard their calls. Now firmly established across the entire continental U.S., the coyote continues to broaden its horizons into the Canadian Maritime provinces and reaches further into Central America with each passing year.
It’s not only the lack of competition that drives this expansion, however. Coyotes are quick to adapt to landscapes now dominated by creatures that offer the clever critters all sorts of opportunities while at the same time largely ignoring their presence — humans. Because close encounters are rare and very seldom confrontational, people tend to look upon the coyote as just another part of nature. The fear factor associated with wolves, cougars or bears doesn’t translate to a critter that looks an awful lot like the family house pet.
The patchwork landscape of urban, suburban and rural that we’ve carved out of the wilderness has become a perfect home for the coyote. Rodents, small game, birds and even the occasional domestic cat are easy pickings for a coyote. Furthermore, a huge supply of freshly killed or mortally injured whitetail deer can be found nearly anywhere a highway runs. Life is good for things that can adapt to eating just about anything that can be found where humans roam.
Predation on livestock is a problem, of course, and while a coyote is far less likely than a wolf to take out an adult animal, they can be extremely damaging to young animals. Because of this the coyote can and must be hunted at any time of the year.
When you’re out on a summer night and you hear yips and howls of a distant (or maybe not-so-distant) coyote, remember he’s a relatively new neighbor we’ve cleared a space for — and he’s not likely to go away anytime soon.
Remember, if you have comments on this column or questions about the natural world, write The Rail Trail Naturalist, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email jlorson@alonovus.com. You also can follow along on Instagram @railtrailnaturalist.