War on Coyotes an Exercise in Futility and Cruelty
by Jim Robertson

(printed in the summer issue of Animals Voice magazine)

The rocky relationship between modern humans and coyotes, since the first cowboys and sheep boys drove their ‘livestock’ out onto the western prairies, has played out as a one-sided war waged against an unarmed opponent. Like stormtoopers from an evil empire, toting weapons of mass destruction (rifles, traps, snares, planes and poisons), ranchers have scored heavy casualties against the embattled, outnumbered and outgunned freedom fighters. Still, coyote populations continue to hold their own and, due in part to the annihilation of wolves in North America, have expanded their range from primarily west of the Mississippi to include all 49 continental states and much of Canada.

The following invective against coyotes by a government-hired trapper, from Jack Olsen’s 1971 book, “Slaughter the Animals, Poison the Earth,” typifies the detestation for -- and obsession with the killing of -- coyotes, which continues to fuel that war:

“Them boogers is around here,” the trapper said. “I thought I’d show you how we call ‘em and shoot ‘em.” Back in the pickup, he said, “I know some people have a nervous breakdown when they hear that coyotes is being killed, but that’s just because they don’t know coyotes the way us trappers know ‘em. Personally, I can’t see where they do anybody a lick of good. I can’t see one decent thing that they do. They don’t even provide any hunting, because they’re too elusive. It takes an expert to get anywheres near one.”

“Once coyotes get on your mind,” the trapper went on, “it’s hard to think about anything else. You get so you eat, drink and live coyotes. I’ve laid awake half the night trying to figure out where a certain pair of coyotes was, a pair that I’ve been working on. I’d tracked them boogers all day long and I’d say to myself, ‘well, them son of a guns has got to be someplace.’ It drives you crazy, like a puzzle you can’t do. Sometimes you even envy ‘em a little, the way they can get around and never leave a sign, like ghosts. Why, I’ve never been out of this part of the country, and I’ve caught coyotes that have traveled farther’n I have, some of the son of a bitches are smarter’n me, too!”

Coyotes may well be smarter, but the trapper is undeniably the most cruel. When asked how often he checked his traps, he answered vacantly, “Sometimes we check ‘em every few days. Sometimes it’s a week or two before we can get back.”

Across time and across the continent, the coyote has been persecuted by those who value animal life merely in terms of whether or not it benefits them. A true native American, one of the few species of mammals to actually evolve on the Western Hemisphere, the coyote neither wandered across the Bering land bridge nor stowed away on a trans-Atlantic schooner. They are so inextricably tied to the American landscape that efforts to eradicate them from a given ecosystem usually result in a rebound of their numbers, suggesting the trapper had insight beyond awareness when he profoundly proclaimed that coyotes “are smarter’n me, too!”

Although their merit may not be apparent to those who seek to stamp out coyotes, the fact that they have endured in spite of overwhelming odds is proof of their value in nature’s scheme of things. Anyone with open eyes and an open mind can see that coyotes do quite a “lick of good” in many important ways.

Primarily scavengers, whose diet may contain up to 40% plant matter, coyotes typically utilize the remains of animals who have died in childbirth or of other natural causes. In doing so, they may actually help the very people who vilify them. Kansas mammalogist, Dr. Raymond Hall, made this observation on the usefulness of coyotes, “For one thing, he is a scavenger, and on watersheds which supply water for domestic use, he retrieves many a carcass for food that otherwise would decay and contaminate the water supply, or serve as a lure to filth-loving insects which carry the organisms of decay to man’s food.” In a deplorable show of utter stupidity, those who would poison coyotes have been known to spread toxic chemicals onto these carcasses, threatening not only coyotes, but the entire food chain downstream.

Canis latrans also plays a vital role in nature’s order by helping to control populations of rodents who might otherwise over-exploit their resources and starve. The fact that coyotes are moving into suburban areas and inhabiting eastern states may have a lot to do with increasing rodent colonies in those areas. Indeed, a few more coyotes in New York City could help solve the perceived rat problem there.

When they occasionally prey on larger animals, coyotes usually target an injured or sick ungulate, acting as agents of nature’s greater compassion by reducing the suffering of an animal who would otherwise linger and die slowly. And by removing weak or diseased individuals from a gene pool, predators like coyotes secure healthy animals’ traits for future generations.

It is a well-established fact that coyotes would much rather stick to their customary prey than resort to domestic livestock. Yet, the coyote is ever the scapegoat. As various poisons and other inhumane kill methods are banned, competitive contest hunts -- much like fishing derbies, offering prizes and cash rewards to whoever kills the most coyotes -- are becoming increasingly popular in many states. It seems, in a country built on draining wetlands, fencing grasslands and prairies, and paving over everything in between, any animal that dares to thrive is considered the enemy.

As author Jack Olsen put it, “One of the sorriest effects of the incessant propaganda war against the coyote and other predators is that it perpetuates beliefs that have already caused more than enough harm on the continent of North America.” Ordinarily a writer of true crime books, such as “Son, a Psychopath and his Victims” and “I, the Creation of a Serial Killer”, Olson did not stray far from that genre in addressing the mentality of sheep herders and cattle ranchers and their victimization of coyotes. He continues, “By simple dint of pounding over and over on the same points, the sheep industry has succeeded in characterizing all predators as deadly killers that would rather dine on lamb than anything else that lives on the range. In the sheepman’s demonology of the coyote, every fallen sheep is brought down by coyotes. If Canis latrans comes across a dead sheep and plays his natural role as carrion-eater, the rancher shows teeth marks as proof of murder. If a sheep falls dead and the coyotes ignore the carcass, the sheepman charges an even more heinous crime: killing for pleasure. No matter what the predator does, a diabolical explanation is provided, and grandiose overstatement becomes the rule. Two lambs dying at birth are transformed into twenty lambs killed by coyotes.”

Who wouldn’t demonize an animal capable of making such a frightening howl? Their familiar chorus is part of a diverse repertoire of vocalizations and helps keep the pack in touch, alerting members of one another’s locations over great distances in much the same way as human families depend on cell phones at crowded shopping malls. But while a ringing cell phone is just another annoyance to shoppers not party to the call, the coyote’s multipurpose melodies can be an aid to other species who are able to recognize communications meant to be warnings of danger or “all clear” signals.

Still, to many people, their vocalizations are as misunderstood as the coyotes themselves. The celebrated Naturalist Olaus J. Murie noted, “Certainly a camp on the plains in the Southwest or in the western mountains is cozier when enhanced by the serenade of coyote in the moonlight. Unaccustomed ears, trained by traditional journalism, might interpret the coyote voice as something doleful, a sad requiem that makes one crowd closer to the campfire. Or a flippant tongue might speak of the ‘yapping’ of the coyotes…However it may appear to human ears, to the coyote it satisfies the universal impulse for expression of emotion…”

To their blind and helpless pups, coyote mothers are the personification of the slogan, “lick of good.” Partners for life, both mother and father are devoted parents -- playful, nurturing, affectionate, and protective. I have witnessed these characteristics first-hand over the many hours I’ve spent observing and photographing coyote families interacting. Just last spring in Yellowstone National Park, I watched a mother coyote put herself between her den and a large male grizzly bear. With distracting yelps and a resolute performance, she successfully lured him from the hideaway where her pups were safely concealed.

Underscoring the futility of brutal control methods, the killing of coyotes paradoxically increases the food per coyote ratio, resulting in more pups each spring and higher pup survival rates -- ultimately leading to more coyotes. And exterminating established coyotes only makes it more likely that younger, less experienced individuals will move into the vacated, unfamiliar territory and prey on the most obvious and abundant nutritional source, lambs or calves.

Acel Rowley, a former government trapper in Utah and Colorado, describes a case in point. “Right out south of Vernal, Utah, in a place called Kennedy Basin,” he relates, “there was a pair of coyotes that I killed their pups every year for nine years. Both the adults were trap-wise and poison-wise, and the only thing I could do was keep killing their pups. All that time there were sheep on every side of those two adult coyotes, and they never touched a one. They kept right to their own hunting runway and lived on rodents and rabbits. They got so they knew the countryside by the inch, and they’d walk around anything new, like a 1080 station or a cyanide gun. I shot the old bitch coming out of her hole, and a year or so later I got the dog the same way. Well, what do you think happened? With those two out of there, after nine or ten years, I started having coyote trouble with sheep.”

“Why did you kill the first pair?” Rowley was asked. “Apparently they weren’t doing any harm.”

“I had to,” the old trapper said. “That was my job--killing coyotes.”