On the downside of roller-coaster hill again another omen. A young coyote dashes across the road. His leap starts somewhere just past barbed wire on one side of the road and ends – over the pavement – just before the wire - on the other side. He limbos under the fence in a flash and sprints across the pasture. The young ones, besides being smaller, are more jittery. Coyotes are lurkers and don’t like to be caught out in the open but there’s not much ‘open’ left. The older ones – more gray in their coat - don’t jump quite as easy. They’ll take a just a fraction of a moment to consider your noisy hunk of metal hurling down the road towards them; to contemplate your proliferating bricks, shingles, driveways, cul-de-sacs; your plastic playscapes, sprinklers, and mulched flower beds. Then bolt back in the shadows.
This has to be one of, if not THE worst, knock-knock joke I’ve ever heard.