The other day I woke in the middle of the night to a very strange sound. It was the yowlings of coyotes, I'm sure of it! It went on and on, and I could picture them or it over the ice and in the valley, howling away to stake their claim.

I couldn't help but to think that my footprints walking around amongst them, with my human smell all too keen, made them need to form a protest. That by howling in the middle of the blue and frozen night, I, safe in my house in my bed, the covers drawn high over my nose, would think twice next time I wanted to traipse across the ice onto their territory.