The coyote

Early on, Chase Road in North Brookfield, Massachusetts, was called Hickory Lane, having been named by my father after the grove of Hickory Trees that lined its way. My father built a house along this road and just before the railroad tracks was a swampy area we used for a dump.

One of my chores was to bring a sack of garbage to this dump each evening before I went to bed. The sack was almost always overflowing, smelled like coffee grounds, and was about to burst its bottom. I would hold this closely to prevent the bottom from falling out as I walked to the dump.

Once in a light snowfall during my nightly trek to the dump, I felt the glow of a pair of eyes in the darkness. It was a coyote. I froze in fear as I watched the wild dog. He made two complete circles around me, and then put his nose to the ground, plowing a path to the dump. He knew I was bringing him his supper.