Coyote Yipps

I’m writing this in the wake of all the dog/coyote incidents that have recently been in the newspapers. I want people to know that there is more to coyotes than just that, that coyotes are fascinating as individuals and as a species because of their intelligence, personalities, family structures, and land management, among other things. Here I dive into some of my observations of them and share some telling photos.

Coyotes are our fellow citizens here in San Francisco — a *citizen* being someone who lives in the city — a denizen of the city. They are living in and sharing the same neighborhoods we do. We share this urban environment with lots of wildlife, even if we humans want to predominate and dominate the scene. According to Brandon Keim [in “Meet the Neighbors”, page 13], in this setting, “what makes us human is not what makes us different from other animals, but what we have in common.” Brandon writes about the “personhood” (his term) of animals and indeed, it’s knowing and appreciating them as individuals that helps break through some thinking barriers we’ve been handed down through the ages, including through science.

In this vein, my own view of coyotes is anchored in my hours of *focused observation* which has led to my feeling of commonality and empathy with these critters, in spite of the obvious superficial differences that we usually focus on. Animals, as we, in fact are thinking and feeling in a much deeper way than most people have imagined.

Through hours of observing them, I’ve come to see coyotes as living parallel lives to our own, similar to the Hobbits who are *over there* in the shire, mostly invisible to us humans, but living very equivalent lives to our own, within their territories and family structures, and functionally doing what we humans are doing: trying to survive and eke out a living in an often inhospitable outer world, but also within a an often rich social context that constitutes their/our closer inner circle. When that social context is broken or missing, it affects them no less than it affects us.

Coyotes’ basic social unit is the nuclear family: both parents work for a living by hunting and defending their turf, and both parents raise, defend, and provide for the young, while yearlings pitch-in with all of these duties. They live on their exclusively family owned territories, keeping all outsider coyotes out. We have about 20 of these family-owned territories that cover the entirety of San Francisco (see map]

Coyotes are highly social, highly interactive, and highly communicative, and many if not most famously mate for life, and they also engage in individual activities — hey, not different from ourselves: they play, they hunt, they have parties (most evenings the family congregates for its rendezvous), they celebrate (yes, I’ve seen it!), they tease, they defend, they go exploring. Their relationships vary from simple companions and like-minded buddies, to bullies and rivals, to peacekeepers, caregiver and comforters. Mom and Dad are always at the top of the hierarchy, and just as in our own families, there often is sibling rivalry and vying for superiority within litters and even between litters.

They communicate vocally, with sounds that vary from yipps to growls, squeals, hisses, grunts, purrs, moans and screeches — these range from barely audible to overpoweringly loud! And they communicate silently through odors and pheromones — for example, scent marking their boundaries — and silently through body language and subtle eye-to-eye-contact and expressions. And from what I’ve seen, it’s every bit as nuanced as our most carefully chosen words and the entonations we use, if not more so.

They display the same full range of emotions that we display, from joy, enthusiasm, affection, excitement, to boredom, pain, rejection, sadness, jealousy, anger, oneupmanship and even deception (even though that’s not exactly an emotion). They love to tease each other.

This coyote is acting sad and rejected: she’s been taunted, shunned and excluded. Their emotions seem to be extremely intense, and are very obvious when watching them (which is why it’s so much fun to watch them, if they allow you to)

Their bodies respond to the environment no different than ours. There is physical pain from thorns and bugs, and from bigger injuries from lost eyes and tails and broken legs and crippling diseases such as mange. Some of these are accidents and illnesses that weaken and compromise their ability to live. This is all the stuff I’ve observed repeatedly through hours of first-hand observations and then written about on my blog, but besides observing this stuff, isn’t it just plain logical that this would be so?

They deal with death and they deal with birth, their own and others’.

*Science* is only now agreeing more and more with the view that animals are much more intelligent and feeling than science admitted in the past. Brandon Keim’s book talks about the intelligence of bees, the friendship of snakes, puzzle-solving turtles, etc, and science is indeed confirming these. One has to wonder why *science* is just now *getting* this, when focused observations by anyone makes it all so obvious. Science upholds a hierarchical order of things passed down from ages past, putting humans at the top. We don’t like to see our characteristics shared with others.

Science is rooted in observation. Repeat observations allow us to form generalities. However, science itself has had to reverse some of its proclaimed truths. We drank milk when I was growing up because we needed calcium. Now we know that milk actually leeches out the calcium from your bones. Long established underlying scientific principles should always be questioned. I’ve approached studying coyote behavior not with the idea that *they aren’t like us until proven otherwise*, but rather with the idea that *they ARE like us until proven otherwise*.

Galileo applied mathematics to experimental physics. His mathematical methods were the standard ones of the day, but he was condemned for pointing out that the sun, and not the earth, was the center of the universe because that broke long established conventions about where man stood in the world: that we humans weren’t at the center of the universe with everything revolving around ourselves and our religion. This was anathema!! I think we’re still grappling with this hubrustic concept. I don’t see much difference between this and the idea of anthropomorphizing — a concept where we attribute human characteristics — including intelligence and emotion — to animals, as if humans were the only ones with such characteristics.

In sum, having empathy for, and being able to relate to other animals, grows connections and understanding whereas dehumanizing or objectifying these animals [it has been argued that these are one and the same: https://blog.apaonline.org/2018/08/02/is-dehumanizing-animals-possible/] — makes it easier for us humans to dominate and persecute coyotes and other animals as dangerous or mindless/stupid enemies without feeling bad or guilty about it. What we don’t know engenders fears in us, and we destroy what we fear and what we relegate to a status below ourselves. People end up filling in what they don’t know with rumors, hearsay, unvetted conventional thinking, or a single experience from which they generalize. There’s more to learn about coyotes than simply the issues of dog/coyote encounters that have hit the newsstands.

On an ending note, in THEIR contexts, in fact, they are smarter than we are: try sniffing out WHO passed through your turf yesterday, or simply REMEMBERING everything you need to without writing it down, like elephants do!

On the left, siblings who used to be best buddies have become arch-rivals. On the right, a father coyote uses scare tactics to get a dog to leave: these tactics can often be intense, insistent, and persistent, especially during the denning seasons, which is what makes them so scary. If it weren’t so intense, we would not listen. And herein lies a problem with humans and their dogs: humans want to always control situations, not be controlled by other species. We get around it by calling them aggressive, but they aren’t, they are simply demanding what they need.