Two canines, one hill
"Pudelhund," meet "Canis Latrans"
America, a full-on poodle, loves to stare into pines and oaks that quill out of a hillside down to the marsh. She will do this indoors sitting on a comfy bed by a window, standing outside on a deck, or curled atop pine needles in a yard that is not a yard — no grass, no flat open spaces, no mowing.
She can stare for a long time, quite the attention span. Sometimes I can tell what she’s looking at, most times not. Sometimes she’ll whimper in recognition, rumble a growl of concern, or jump up with a bark and if we’re inside bolt for the door.
I’ll go out with her, see if I might catch a glimpse of what’s so intriguing. She’s never on a leash so she’ll vanish for a few minutes, rustle among brushy scrub, then return with a bounce in her step and self-satisfied air.
Late at night, when howls waft up from the marsh, once upon a time she’d bolt alert, bark, press against a window. But nowadays she mimics me, staying stretched out, tilting her head, listening with interest but no deep concern.
Other than making sure I know a car is bouncing down the shelled driveway below, I assume her daytime focus mostly is the same as at night:
The presence of Canis Latrans, Eastern coyotes.
People say they arrived on Cape Cod in the 1980s; my favorite fairy tale theory is that they stowed away on trucks carrying firewood from northern New England, tempted aboard by tasty mice hiding among cords.
They seem to be a mix of Western coyotes and Eastern red wolves, “coywolves.” Lewis and Clark documented their half-ancestors on that epic Western trek, distinguishing low-land “brush wolves” from “timber wolves” in mountains.
People say many more things about them, apocryphal and scientific. According to scat analysis, they eat voles but manage to hunt small or weak deer as well as turkeys, rabbits, and squirrels. Their diet also includes chicken, meat and pork scavenged from our garbage.
Cats, dogs, and shorebirds don’t seem to fall prey much. I admit the possibility, though let’s resist panic; coyote dens full of cat collars are in the apocryphal realm. A dog America’s size and consciousness has little to fear; I’ve seen her herd a coyote or two off our hill more than once.
People also say a lot about poodles, named from the German pudel, which means to splash (maybe in a puddle), shortened from Pudelhund, a dog that splashes. They were bred as water fowl retrievers; some wound up joining circus troupes and royal courts (in France, hence French Poodle) because they could be trained to do tricks and errands.
People call them the most intelligent of all dogs; I’ve joked it’s a good thing America doesn’t have an opposable thumb because she’d be out the door, driving my car. But I’ve come to realize something different:
The reason we think poodles are so smart is that they care about humans, they try to please us. So we think they’re smart.
A bloodhound is just as “smart,” with a different focus. And if you were to plunk a poodle and mutt into wilderness, no way of knowing which of them would be “smarter” and survive.
We don’t use the “s” word with coyotes, more “wily” (“Wile E.” for old cartoon fans), which apparently is different. You’ll never see a coyote in a circus or dog show, put it that way.
Poodles being human-centric, there has been a movement to breed their attentiveness into other species; labradoodles, goldendoodles, cockapoos, schnoodles, St. Berdoodles, Jack-a-poos — I could go on 50 creepy times. So perhaps I can be forgiven, as I roam the hill looking at scat, for a eugenics wish:
If America had puppies, I would be intrigued if the father was a Canis Latrans.
What would this new breed be called? Coyoodles? Pooyotes?
Whatever, the puppies might become the greatest canine partners ever to walk the face of the earth. Then again they might be too wild yet smart enough, combining guile and comprehension, to become Satanic, genetic canine AI.
Or both.
This is not abstract musing:
America has not been fixed.
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I think you may have known my dear coydog Simon, who passed away in a majestic manner, befitting his regal and magical essence. He took his last breath on the upper deck of my old place on the ocean. I had to look away for a moment as he took that last gasp, and as that little puff of air escaped and freed him I saw a huge whale breach right in front of us! It was as if the whale was there to escort him onto his next adventure - so fitting for the wild ocean dog who loved to ride the waves with me! I’ve had about a dozen dogs in my life and loved them all, but Simon, whose father was a wild coyote who roamed the woods in upper westchester and whose mother was pure abandoned mutt, was the most extraordinary canine I’ve ever known. We were so lucky to have found each other (I adopted him from a shelter shortly after he was weaned). He was born for the life I gave him on the beach in Wellfleet back when we would all let our dogs roam freely. Too many Simon stories to share here, but his keen and wild intelligence mixed with his undying devotion to me and his human (along with a few other species who shared our home) made him a legend in our family and community. I’ll always feel a sense of awe and gratitude that he blessed us for those 19 years!
pudel/poodles are the best