“Wile E. Coyote” Has Write Stuff  

Twenty-two writers entered The Peak’s “The Write Stuff Challege: Critter” contest. In the adult category,  “Wile E. Coyote” by Mike Kordik,” a sensitive account about the bond between a boy and a coyote, won 1st place. “Starry Night” by Christina Kelly” was awarded 2nd place, and “Bowling for Rattlers” by Stephanie Bradley took 3rd.  Judges named four runners-ups, “A Day in the Life of a Coyote” by Merri Zohar, “Leapin’ Lizards, Lenny” by Linda Voremberg, "Life Goes On" by Barb Owings, and “Quail in the Pot!” by Diane McCoy-Berney. In the youth category, “Sonoran Snake” by Stephanie Rioux, and “The Rescuer” by Summer Tonsfeldt won 1st and 2nd place, respectively.

 

2008 Write Stuff: Critter Contest, 1st Place Winner

Adult Division

Wile E. Coyote

 By Mike Kordik

 

Wile E. Coyote has laid his trap, but the Road Runner has outfoxed him again! Suffering the fate that he had intended for the Road Runner, Wile E. runs off the cliff, falling into the chasm far below, foiled again, and cursed with bad luck! 

I own a nice little ranch east of Carefree, Arizona, where we breed horses and maintain a small fruit orchard. Several years ago, on a hot August day, I was out inspecting our irrigation lines with my eight-year-old son, Colton. Arizona orange and grapefruit trees have to “have their feet in the water and heads in the sun” to flourish, and proper irrigation is the difference between a successful crop and a failed one. While I was repairing one of the irrigation berms, Colton noticed a little ball of fur in the nearby brush that was covered in blood and emitting an almost inaudible whimper. Chock full of all the curiosity an eight year old possesses, Colton approached the mystery animal and shouted, “Dad! I think it’s a coyote!”

I went over to investigate Colton’s discovery and, sure enough, it was a baby coyote. It was so small that I doubted that it had even been weaned yet. His right front paw looked like it had been half chewed off, probably by a mountain lion or another of the desert predators that try to pull the baby coyotes out of their underground birthing dens. Furthermore, it looked like he had lost a lot of blood. I had half a mind to put the poor creature out of his misery, as ranchers, in general, don’t like coyotes. While coyotes prefer to eat small animals such as rabbits and field mice, in a pinch, they will eat any accessible fruits, vegetables, or defenseless farm animals. Besides, by the look of it, I didn’t think this pup would live to see the next sunrise.

My plan had one flaw! Colton, with tears streaming down his face, was begging me to take the pup home so we could care for it….an idea that sounded about as good to me as eating a sand sandwich! But breaking my son’s heart was the harder course so I loaded the pup into the jeep and took him home to my wife, Maria, whom everyone calls Mama. Mama seemed even less enthused than I was about the whole idea, and I hadn’t scored many points with her by bringing him home in the first place! Nevertheless, Colton’s persistence finally wore her down and, after making him swear that the pup would be treated outside in the shed and kept there until it healed and could be released, Mama finally relented.

So Colton and I took the pup outside and cleaned and bandaged our newfound friend. Colton dug up an old baby bottle Mama had, filled it with warm milk, and started to feed the pup. “Dad,” Colton said, “I’m gonna name him ‘Wile E.’ just like in the cartoons!”  “Why Wile E.?” I asked him. He replied, “Well, Dad, they’re both unlucky.” And Wile E. he became.

Over the next few weeks, under Colton’s continuous care, Wile E. made a remarkable recovery. While it was clear that he would never regain full use of his front paw, he adapted well to his limitations and managed to get around the farm compound pretty well. As he grew, his tan and brown colors, pointed ears, and bushy tail gained the definition that clearly proclaimed that Wile E. was indeed a full-fledged coyote. As if that wasn’t enough, at night he howled and yipped to the other coyotes in the area, which, I can tell you, didn’t make Mama too happy either! But in time, we all got used to it. Our farmhouse, sheds, and greenhouse are surrounded by an eight-foot chain link fence so Wile E. had ample room to run around…and run he did…nonstop!

While not what you would call “friendly” to people in general, Wile E. minded his manners around them. However, over time, it became abundantly clear that Wile E. and Colton had a special bond. While waiting for Colton to come home from school, Wile E. would pace the yard like an expectant father in the delivery room. When Colton finally arrived, Wile E. would rush to his side and jump and yelp for joy. If Colton went to his knees, Wile E. would lick his face and then perform a little hippity-hop dance all around him…it was the damnedest thing to see. Their bond was very, very tight.

One spring morning, Colton came rushing into the house with unabashed sobs, shouting “Dad! Wile E. is gone!”  After conducting a short reconnaissance of the yard, we found Wile E. in a den that he had instinctively dug under one of the sheds. Furthermore, given the shortage of natural materials in the compound, he had done an admirable job of camouflaging the entrance. That became Wile E’s formal residence thereafter. Additionally, he had taken to urinating on every fence post in the yard. While I thought he was acting more and more like his namesake, Colton informed me that he was just “stakin’ out his territory.”  It seemed that Colton had been studying up some on coyotes.

By that summer, Wile E. had grown into a mature coyote. His nighttime howls grew plaintiff and prolonged as he incessantly paced back and forth across the yard. It was clear to Mama and me that the time for his release was near, but Colton still struggled against the inevitable. One night, however, Wile E. resolved the issue by jumping over our eight-foot fence. Who knew he could do that?  More remarkable yet, Wile E. jumped the fence again the next morning, returning to his den and afternoon reunion with Colton. Over time, though, Wile E’s patterns changed. Some days, he didn’t return at all and, much to Colton’s chagrin, he wasn’t there to welcome him home from school. Slowly, Wile E. spent more and more time away from our home, and his visits became infrequent. After one month with no sightings, we all thought that he had returned to his natural habitat forever. Nevertheless, Colton maintained a regular vigil for his friend!

With the onset of winter and well after the fruit harvest, Colton became ill with fevers and chills. Normal medications and treatments had no curative effect on him so our doctors referred him to specialists for more exhaustive examinations and tests. Finally, Colton was diagnosed with acute leukemia, a form of leukemia that is prevalent in the young. Through the use of modern medicines and treatments, the survival rate for this disease was climbing, but Colton would have to undergo debilitating chemo treatments for quite some time. Colton’s illness and its subsequent treatment kept him in a constant state of fatigue and sullenness. Mama and I tried to keep things upbeat and cheerful, but Colton withdrew more and more into himself. Mama and I prayed to God for a miracle!

One cold evening, right around dinnertime, we heard a coyote howl from close by. Colton ran to the window and shouted out, “Mama! Wile E. is back!” Rushing out into the yard, Colton and Wile E. reunited. Wile E. licked Colton’s face and danced that crazy jumping, yipping dance of his. The look of pure joy on Colton’s face was worth every dollar I possessed, and with tears of gratitude rolling down our faces, Mama and I mouthed a quiet “thanks” for the answered prayer. Somehow, Wile E. knew he had to come back!

Wile E. still kept up his habit of coming and going, but his visits were infrequent and Colton relished each one of them. To this day, I wonder if animals have a sixth sense that somehow lets them know that they are needed. Nevertheless, and for whatever reason, Colton started down a road to recovery and, while it didn’t happen overnight, Mama and I marked its beginning as the night that Wile E. returned to Colton.

Several years later, Colton’s leukemia was in full remission, and he had successfully entered his teenage years with all the trials, tribulations, and distractions they entail. Life has moved on, as it is prone to do, relegating all our joys and sorrow’s to the deeper recesses of our memory. Wile E’s visits had become progressively fewer and fewer until, at last, they stopped altogether. In fact, we haven’t seen him for well over two years now. Due to crop and small livestock losses attributed to coyotes, the local ranchers have taken to aggressively hunting them down, and we worry no small amount about our Wile E.

Now, when the evenings come and the howls of distant coyotes resonate throughout the Valley, our minds are transported back to those days as if by a conjurer’s spell. We remember how our family was blessed by one of God’s desert creatures that, while arguably unlucky himself, brought great fortune to our family. 

Mike Kordik is a resident of Carefree.  Mike was awarded 3rd place in both the 2006 and 2007 Write Stuff: Critter contest. 

 

 

 

 

 

2008 Write Stuff: Critter Contest, 1st Place Winner

Youth Division

Sonoran Snake

 By Stephanie Rioux

 

 

The sound so harmless,
To those who are unaware.
A soft patter,|
Listen closely to hear.
But not too close,
Or face its wrath.
You may not disrupt,
Or else.

What is it?
The wind against bushes?
The desert dirt beneath your feet?
A gentle quail resting innocently?
Or could it be...

The animal feared,|
Yet peaceful in its territory.
Somehow getting from place to place,
Without a single limb.
Shrug it would not,
Even if it had shoulders,
The desert’s no place for carelessness.

 Underground,
It makes its home.|
No space for luxury,
Only it and its prey.
Dinner comes in many ways,
But this creature never goes hungry.
 
Its venom flows,
Like a deadly river.
Thrashing in its intimidating fangs.
Sink into your flesh,
Pain sears like lightning.
You better act fast,
Or you will find,
Its venom has no mercy.

 Out there in the desert,
It’s life or death.
No in-between or cheats.
The order of the food chain takes its toll,
To the benefit of some,
And the danger to others.

This creature is somewhat frightening,
But what of its beauty?
Birds singing,
Rabbits perk up their ears.
Ocotillo sway in the wind,
Then there is this critter.

 The one who slithers all around,
Stealthily it moves.
If fear did not disrupt our view,
We might see beauty,
Grace,
And charm.

 But no,
Fear blinds all.
What is seen is an ugly beast,
Here to threaten,
Frighten,
And hurt.

 This creature is among the largest,
And most dangerous of its kind.
It coils at a threat,
A warning,
Or a defense.
Either way,
You better back off.

Whether gray,
Tan or black,
Its appearance is frightening.
From fangs,
To tail.
This creature was born to be a predator.

 Its forked tongue tastes the air,
Searching for its prey.
Even in the dark of night,
It can find even the most clever meal,

 Diamonds cover its back,
The rough, scaly surface.
That is how it gets its title.

 The sun, bright and shining
Is its friend,
And great companion.
This creature basks in its graceful presence.
Can you imagine such a critter?

 It’s summer when we fear them most,
And winter they shall hide.
This animal’s cold blood,
Is no shield from the cold weather.

 Some are slender,
Some are thick,
But in common they have many things.
Their stripes proudly present,
Forked tongue at the ready.

 I’m sure you can guess what creature this is
By its description,
Its habits,
Or your own fear.

I’ve given you plenty of clues,
I’d be disappointed if you didn’t know its name.
If you have seen one yourself,
You will know the truth.

This creature is pretty,
In its own kind of way.
It’s fierce and frightening,
If it bares its teeth,
But it’s part of our desert,
And a piece of its beauty.

 If you haven’t already guessed
The animal that I speak of,
Then listen now to hear the name
Of the sneaky desert creature.

 The diamondback rattlesnake
Is feared across the West.
But would the Sonoran Desert really be the same
Without its infamous name?

Stephanie Rioux is an 8th grade student at Sonoran Trails Middle School. Stephanie is from north Scottsdale.

 

 
 

 

2008 Write Stuff: Critter Contest, 2nd Place Winner

 Adult Division

Starry Night

 By Christina Kelly

His downy feathers ruffled in the evening breeze. The sky glowed pink and red across the valley. Lights flickered in the distance. He loved this time of the evening. His mother had just left on her first hunting trip of the night. He knew that before long she would be back with the evening's first catch and the night’s feeding would begin.

The wind gusted suddenly, urging the young owl to spread his wings. He couldn't wait to fly with his mother into the evening sky. He knew it would be soon.

There she was, dinner in her mouth. Sharing the catch, the two young owls quickly finished what she brought and demanded more.

Grubby the baby owl with his foster mother and foster brothers at the bird sanctuary

He waited, clinging to the edge of that nest high in the saguaro cactus, as his mother and father both hunted and returned again and again with the night’s catch. The black starry night turned to predawn light. The wind gusted again, nearly knocking him off the nest. He noticed a pounding in his ears. Blood seemed to be rushing to his head. Another gust of wind sent him tumbling over the side. Falling head over heels against the cactus he hit the ground. He lay there stunned, his vision blurred. He lost consciousness. Sometime later he began to stir. The pain of the cactus spines in his back and under one wing were excruciating. He knew that something terrible had happened. Where were his parents? Weak, his heart pounding, the rushing sound in his head deafening, he pulled himself to his feet and began walking.

He found himself walking alongside the road. A car drove by and nearly blew him over. He felt dizzy. He must keep going. He walked and walked along the side of the street. Exhausted and in great pain, he stopped to rest. It had become light outside.

He could hardly move now. He noticed the woman as she slowly crossed the street.

She spoke softly to the owl.

She picked him up in her jacket and held him gently.

She carefully carried him home where she contacted a local bird sanctuary. She put the bird into a box lined with a towel and drove to the address she had been given by the woman on the phone.

A man greeted her at the door. "Hi, my name is Christy. I called about the baby owl." They stepped into the hospital where he picked up the bird and began to check it. He then put the baby owl into a carrier and took her information. He promised he would call and let her know how the baby owl was progressing as soon as his wife had a chance to examine it.

The baby owl was very weak and barely conscious. Hardly breathing, he looked into the eyes of the woman as she gently checked him over, looking for signs of life and symptoms of what might have happened to this young great homed owl.

Blood ran from the "blood-feathers" underneath his wings; a sign of internal hemorrhaging. Once the effects of poison have gotten this far there is no hope. The woman shook her head sadly, knowing this little one would not make it. She whispered a prayer for him. He died in her hands. A tear slid down her cheek.

The woman called Christy that evening to tell her the little owl had died and that rat poisoning was the probable cause of his death. Christy grieved for the demise of the little bird. He had hemorrhaged to death as a result of the blood thinners that are used to make rat poison. Christy thought back to the conversation that she had with the pest control man that she had met in her back yard a week earlier. He had been loading rat traps with "rat cakes." The residents had been complaining and he was called out to remedy the problem. The owl’s mother had likely caught one of the poisoned rats and had fed it to her babies. She was sick to her stomach, realizing that the other baby was in jeopardy from the same consequence. Christy posted warnings about the rat poison and what had happened to the first baby. A week later while walking Christy found the second baby, dead, on the ground underneath the tall cactus. She took it to the bird sanctuary; back to the same lady she had met before. It too showed signs of poisoning, bleeding through the blood feathers.

It seemed a nightmare. It was a wakeup call for the woman as she began to understand what was happening to these beautiful birds all over the valley. These incredible birds and other wildlife in the neighborhood were paying with their lives for the senseless destruction of their habitats and food source through the thoughtless actions of the pest control companies and human ignorance.

It was 6:30 Sunday morning when her cell phone rang. Her friend was on the line begging her to come quickly.There was a baby owl at her patio door and he was just sitting there looking in at her as if he wanted to come in.

Christy jumped out of bed horrified that it was happening again. Was another baby owl poisoned? She grabbed a cardboard box and a towel. There he was at the patio door. He scooted across the patio trying to hide in the bushes. She threw a towel over him and lifted him into the box. The lady at the bird sanctuary assured her she would do her best to help and would call as soon as there was any news.

Two days later she received a call from the sanctuary. The baby owl had survived and was doing well. No signs of poisoning. He had probably fallen out of his nest and injured his wings. They named him "Grubby." The lady explained that owls were territorial and that this baby was probably from a different area that had not been impacted by rat poison. Grateful that the owl had survived, Christy began to volunteer on Thursday nights to help feed the birds at the sanctuary so that she could stay in touch with "Grubby." Grubby made great gains and was put into an aviary with "foster parents" for the rest of his recovery. Six weeks later it was confirmed that he was 100 percent healed and ready to go back to his parents. Christy and her friend were ecstatic about the recovery and made plans to celebrate the owl’s return to his natural parents.

As Christy made her weekly rounds, she began to understand the passion that the people at the sanctuary had for these beautiful creatures. She learned there are many different kinds of owls in Arizona and right here in our backyards. She learned of their misfortunes caused by humans, traffic accidents, owl feather poaching, and being illegally shot by thoughtless citizens. The importance of rescue and preservation of these birds began to make sense. After all, these beautiful birds and desert wildlife are an important part of Arizona’s special future.

Christy and friends at Grubby's release party.

The day came to take Grubby back home. Four friends came to witness the release and celebrate Grubby's "freedom day." When sunset neared Christy took Grubby out of his box. She held him to her chest, her heart pounding, and walked out into the evening twilight. Standing in the street each person said heartfelt goodbyes and made wishes of a long life for the young owl. His parents were out there. They had listened to them calling most every night. Grubby clicked his beak and flapped his wings in anticipation, sensing something big was about to happen. He was excited by the familiar surroundings. The openness of the street and the night air called to his instincts.

It was time. Christy held him up high and he spread his wings eager to fly. He clicked his beak a few more times. She lowered him to her side and then swung him high into the air and let go. He flapped twice and sailed in silent slow motion down the street. He lifted up into the air, veered to the right, and crash landed somewhere up on the desert.

Fearing for the young owl, Christy and her friends ran down the street and clambered up the rocks. In the dimming light they could see him there on the ground, staring up at them. He sat there blinking, looking back for a few moments before spreading his beautiful wings and lifting off once more. He sailed away into the dark starry night, back to his parents, back to his natural home.

He was home at last. Jubilant, the friends danced and sang and celebrated his freedom well into the night.

 

          Christina Kelly is a resident of north Scottsdale. This is the first time that she has entered the Write Stuff contest.

 

 

 

2008 Write Stuff: Critter Contest, 2nd Place Winner

Youth Division

The Rescuer

 By Summer Tonsfeldt

My canteen is now empty
As the last drop rolls down my throat
The sweat beads down my face
And my body lay completely soaked

 I open my eyes
Only to see the sun
Beating down on me furiously
It knows it has won

 1 hear myself panting
This is the last straw
The heat has finally gotten to me
And I feel myself withdraw

 But before I can let myself go
I hear a noise in the distance
A scamper,
A howl,
A sign of existence.

 I feel myself being lifted
Onto what I had no clue
But my body lay motionless
So I had no choice but to go through

 I felt the flow of water
Streaming down my mouth
The lord must have come to me
In my time of doubt 

I eagerly press open eyes
My hero has left no hints
All I can see in front of me
Is a trail of paw prints

 

 
 

                     Summer Tonsfeldt lives in Scottsdale and attends Pinnacle High School. She is 15.

 

 
 

 

 

2008 Write Stuff: Critter Contest, 3rd Place Winner

Adult Division

Bowling for Rattlers

 By Stephanie Bradley 

My travel is measured along a washboard, dirt road. Keeping a proper pace while driving one’s car over such terrain is critical; too slow, and every jarring crest jangles up through the car and exits the teeth, fillings vibrating at wildly different rates than the porcelain they line; too fast and the car jounces off the road.

Already educated as to the optimal speed, I was on my way, fillings intact, to rendez-vous with my husband Steve and our cabinet maker Bob. We three were to meet at three o’clock at the site of Steve’s and my future home in the desert. I was early as I made a leisurely track past vast stretches of undulating, stark land that was framed by the McDowell Mountains to the south, Troon Mountain to the west, Granite Mountain to the north and Four Peaks to the east. I knew how very fortunate we were to be in such tranquil place.

Sunlight bounced off the car’s hood and windshield. Squinting through sunglasses, I scouted vigilantly for new ruts, branches or other obstacles on the road. The edge of the road was irregularly dotted with clods of monsoon-spawned mud balls the size of fists, which had been swept by the passage of city grading efforts and the occasional car.

Ahead of me, I spied a spindly shadow that stretched about a third of the way across the left-hand side of the road.  I slowed for a better look. The linear shadow took on definition as the dust settled. A snake, oblivious to its perilous choice of sunning location, lay in the road. I took pity upon it and vowed to shoo it safely off the road before someone came barreling, crunching the hapless reptile. I stopped a little ways past the snake, turned off the ignition and got out to assess the situation.

I approached tentatively, wondering if the snake had already met up with truck tires. It was rigid and unresponsive, a little lumpy, but not obviously FLAT anywhere and no innards had gone outwards. Still, it was still as the poker it resembled. I could see it was a rattlesnake by its diamond pattern and tell-tale coon tail. I took a few cautious steps, not daring to get too close. My presence went unacknowledged: No darting tongue telegraphing perception; no flick of the tail in castanet warning.

I am by nature a Dixie cup and cardboard kind of gal. Using a technique mastered over the years, I have safely trapped multi-legged creatures of all types within an inverted cup, sliding an old birthday card underneath their many feet to cap their exit before sending them outdoors. Clearly, a snake, a higher life form in my view, deserved even more attention in pursuing its life, safe from man-made hazards. Clearly, in the absence of a Dixie cup “to scale,” I needed a means to get the snake to safety while keeping myself safe as well.

I needed a plan.

First, I needed to test the snake for viability in a safe fashion. I came upon an idea. Maintaining my distance, I picked up one of the hardened mud balls from the side of the road and, if I may modestly report, rolled it with great accuracy towards the snake. The ball stopped just as it gently touched the tail.

No response.

Unconvinced, I still did not dare to approach the snake. Instead, I picked up another handy clod and repeated my stellar style of bowling. No response. I decided one more roll was called for and put a little “English” on it.  I saw the tongue flicker to life.

“Yes!” I said aloud to no one in particular, “it’s alive.” Now the challenge was to keep it so by scooting it off to the roadside and into the safety of cover.

With my recent success “bowling the clods,” I more confidently picked up another mud ball, aimed and again executed a flawless roll. Yet again, the mud ball bonked against the snake’s hind end. Rather than retreating from my benign assaults, the somnolent snake remained impassive.  I was surprised it didn’t slither off as I expected, but was determined to fulfill my mission to get it off the road for its own good.

There was no need to change the plan. I had the means. I had the skill.

Once more I collected a mud clod and repeated my Olympian bowling form, this time with results. In stunned micro-seconds, I watched as the snake came to angry life.

Its limp body suddenly launched straight up into the air. Furious eyes met my stunned pair. The snake made a figure eight while airborne, reoriented its body to face me head on, and, when it hit dirt, shot straight at me.  That snake was a rocket! I yelped and dove into the open car door, slamming it behind me. Heart pounding, I looked in the rearview mirror. No snake. I tried to look over the bulge of car door to see if the snake was camped out beneath the door. I couldn’t see enough to tell. I looked out the various windows for any clue as to its whereabouts. Nothing.

It was quiet. Too quiet. And darned hot.

I considered my options. I was safely within the metal fortress of my car. I should just go on my way.

But I couldn’t just start the car and drive off. For crying out loud, the whole point of this ridiculous exercise had been to keep the snake alive! If it were now under the car, I would not only fail in my mission but commit the crime I sought to prevent!

I waited. I waited some more. Partly to release the heat building inside the car and partly out of surrender, I tentatively opened the door and peered down. No snake.  I considered dropping my head down to look under the car. The image of being yet again eyeball to eyeball with a rattler filled my mind’s eye with respectful terror and I gave that idea a pass. Besides, I wasn’t sure my “mature” body could bend that far any more.

I decided to leap out. Yes, I would leap out of the car and perhaps be able to bend down enough to look beneath the car. But then what if the snake were there, waiting in full infuriation mode? It was obviously annoyed to the max with me, unaware of my good intentions. I now possessed a PhD on its speed, to which, in previous encounters with rattlesnakes, I had not been privy. What if it chased me? Time passed, the car became hotter. I decided I had to do something. I steeled myself for a giant leap for womankind, hunched on the car door threshold, wriggled a time or two and threw myself away from the car. With my knee complaining, I knelt down and peered under the car, fearful of what I might find peering back.

No snake. I was….relieved.

The bugger was no where in sight. In concert with my monumental stupidity, I was remarkably lucky.

I limped back to the car, started the engine and pulled up a ways for a final look around. I put the car in park, left the car running and exited, leaving the door open for a quick getaway. Keeping my distance, I looked along the road edge, into the shadows of creosote and sage and there it was, head pointing my way, tongue darting, eyes dark with unwavering irritation.

I saluted, got into the car and arrived at the house site to find Steve and Bob waiting. “We got here early,” they said.

That was too bad. After my adventure, I could have used a quiet visit behind a bush to mark my relief.

           Stephanie Bradley lives in north Scottsdale. This is the first time that she has entered the Write Stuff contest.

 
 

 

2008 Write Stuff: Critter Contest, Runner-Up

Adult Division

A Day in the Life of ... Coyote

 By Merri Zohar


     There is a sweetness in the air. I smell it, water – moving, cool, clear, clean, hydrating! I must scout out who else drinks here, lives here. This is a great area for me this spring.
I am a young male and in need of a mate. It is time I move out away from the pack, make a life of my own, but I'm scared.


     My pack and I have been traveling this dry creek bed for days desperately searching for water, a new place to live and raise our young. We've passed several Javalina trails. We've seen the gnawed off edges of prickly pear plants and the shedded bristly hairs rubbed on branches and rocks. And the smell, did I mention the smell? Whoa!
Yeah, that is disgusting even to us!

     I'm out ahead of the pack today scouting. We'll hunt after dark so we need to find shelter before the sun goes down.

     I am being followed. I howl. No response. Someone is tracking me. I hear the rustle of the branches as it tries to stay hidden. It is about my size. The footsteps let me know it is a four-legged. But the canter is off somehow. I must always be up wind, I can't catch the scent. It has stayed far enough away to elude me at the water, in the shade, where I have rested. Now I must know what it is and what it wants.

     I circle around some bushes. The sound is closer. I smell coyote, young female. As we make eye contact I see skunks are near. We better get out of the area. We make eye contact again, I bark and we head for the creek bed.

     I run and see she isn't staying with me. Her injury has slowed her down so much she has to find hiding places to stop and rest. Being wounded makes you vulnerable, a target. She finally makes it to the creek bed. Alone and out of danger we can now meet and get to know each other. She gingerly lifts her right front paw so that I can examine her wound. A saguaro thorn has pierced the skin between the toes. It has almost pushed through to the other side.

     She tells me that she and her family were hunting and just made a kill when a mountain lion approached. She was hungry and when she charged us we ran. I wanted to eat not be eaten. The lioness lunged at her and as she jumped out of the way she hit her right foot and leg against a cactus but didn't stop running until safely away. Some of the thorns have come out but the remaining ones are very painful.

     I agreed to be her lookout at watering holes and share food until it is healed. She will die otherwise.

     We came upon a place to drink. As we approach we make wide sweeping circles around the area making smaller and smaller circles inward like a pebble in the water. Once there I drink first and then begin making larger and larger circles out as she drinks. Always looking back to the main focus the watering hole and the young female. Once she meets up with me we head out to find food.

     A large ominous shadow swoops just above us breaking the sunlight for a moment. Two turkey vultures are looking for dinner. They now soar to a higher altitude playing in the breeze. We keep moving.

     Her pack is calling. She howls in response. They are close and have food to share. As we lay down to sleep I think about the day and how great it has been. I can help her while she heals and in turn she is giving me strength and comfort.

     Over the past few weeks we have been together mostly on our own but also spending time between the two packs. Her paw is completely healed and now we are a good team. She is fast and a trickster. When we can we chase each other through the creek bed and then hide until one of us is chased or forced into the water. We greet our days together, happy and unafraid.

     Merri Zohar lives in north Scottsdale. This is the first time that she has entered the Write Stuff contest.

 
 

 

 

2008 Write Stuff: Critter Contest, Runner-Up

Adult Division

Leapin' Lizards, Lenny

 By Linda Voremberg 

Leo Lizard was Lenny's senior advisor.
 Photograph by Gary Katzenberger.


     Lenny Lizard was at it again! The little Desert Spiny Lizard had been looking for trouble in his back yard home ever since he was hatched along with his brothers and sisters in their egg clutch. Most of the time they crept around, trying to sneak up on unsuspecting bugs which hung out near the patio furniture. One of them clumsily toppled into the bird bath and Lenny thought he saw another one being carried off by a speeding Roadrunner. Ah the dangerous life of a "Sceloporus magister" in bone-dry Arizona!

     But Lenny's greatest thrill was to go exploring for hidey holes where he could wriggle in and get cool for a few hours. This was typical of his species, as they liked rocky crevices and rodent holes. One day he came across a small opening in the side of the house, with a little lid over it. He investigated and discovered that the hole opened to a round tunnel that led far into a dark, dark place. But before he continued his exploration, he talked it over with his dad, Leo. Leo was a full grown, handsome Desert Spiny Lizard. He was covered with rough, colorful scales, ranging from yellow on his head to dark purple on his back and green on his tail. He had a fringe around his neck which made him look somewhat like a very small dinosaur. When Lenny described the mysterious hole for his dad, Leo reared up and started doing pushups like crazy. "Do Not Go In That Hole!" he warned his son. "It could take you to a place where you will be trapped forever!"

     Leo's words should have stopped Lenny, but his curiosity won out the next time he found the hole. As he crawled down the round tunnel, his feet began to slide on the slippery metal and suddenly he fell with a PLOP into the dark. At first the little lizard was dazed and confused as he looked around. He found himself inside a box which contained things that looked like logs, and one wall of the box was made of glass. When he looked through it, he could see two people sitting on a couch, watching a picture that moved and made noise. What Lenny didn't realize was that he had landed inside a gas fireplace in the den of the people's home. Lucky for him, it was summer and the gas logs were not burning.

     But Leo had been right about getting trapped. The glass on the front of the fireplace was sealed into place and by the time the people noticed Lenny, they didn't think they could get him out. So they now had a pet lizard, living in their fireplace, looking helplessly out at them for several days. He had no bugs to eat and his belly was already starting to rumble. He tried to find his way back to the tunnel, but it was too high for him to reach. He sat there, looking out at the room, pawing at the glass and pacing around under the logs for a long time. He was very bored and missed his other lizard relatives, especially Leo.

     Finally, one day the people figured out how to open the glass. Lenny watched from behind the logs, scared of what would happen next. A hand holding a spatula came in through the open glass and forced him to jump out onto the floor, and then a bowl plopped over Lenny, trapping him. Before he knew it, he was scooted across the floor and flung through a door onto the patio. Free at last! Lenny ran all over the yard, grabbing bugs and telling the other lizards about his near death adventure.

     But that is not the end of the story.

     For about two weeks, Lenny gobbled up bugs and grew fatter and more colorful. He was happy, but the weather kept getting hotter and hotter. It became difficult to find hidey holes that were cool and dark. Now lizards are not known for their intelligence, and one day Lenny came across the secret tunnel where he had been trapped before. He faintly remembered Leo's warning words, but it was too late. Before he knew it, he was sliding down that slippery tunnel again and PLOP! he was back in the fireplace.

     He heard someone say, "Oh No!" and saw the people looking at him with disbelieving faces. Once again he roamed around under the logs, paced back and forth beside the glass wall and scratched at it with his little front feet. He even tried looking at the people with a sad, desperate face. Nothing worked! They seemed to be ignoring him this time. Maybe they had decided that they wouldn't help him escape again. Was he doomed to live in here until he died of starvation? Would they actually turn on the fireplace and cook him? After another day and night, Lenny was becoming pretty scared and very hungry. He was starting to have visions of himself outside, running around in the desert, chasing bugs and running from fast-moving birds. Oh, to be out there again, telling his clutch-mates about his now second narrow escape from captivity.

     And then he heard it...the click and bang of the glass panel being opened. The people were getting ready to release him. Yikes! What should he do? He started hiding behind the logs and running back and forth. But this time the hand with the spatula knocked him right out onto the floor. Immediately he was covered with a bowl and before he could realize it, a newspaper was taped around the bowl, covering Lenny with darkness. His little heart was racing as he crouched in the tiny prison, and he felt himself being carried around. Next he heard slamming sounds and then a roar and felt movement. Where was he and where was he going?

     Time passed very slowly and the little lizard had the feeling that he was no longer in his old neighborhood. Had the people taken him far out into the desert so he couldn't find his way back to their fireplace? But he felt the movement stop and someone was carrying his bowl and walking on the desert with crunching footsteps. The newspaper was unwrapped from around his bowl and he was placed on the ground.

     Lenny looked all around him and realized that he was in a new neighborhood. This was a fresh beginning for him and he was so excited! So he did a few Leo-style pushups to gather his courage and began to explore, feeling brave and strong. Lenny Lizard was back, looking for trouble in a new world, ready to start all over again. And who knows, maybe this time he would find the perfect hidey hole!

 * Source: Deserts, Published by the National Audubon Society

           Linda Voremberg in north Scottsdale. This is the first time that she has entered the Write Stuff contest.

 
 

 

2008 Write Stuff: Critter Contest, Runner-Up

Adult Division

Life Goes On

 By Barb Owens 
    

She was in a hurry. She had to find the best place to lay her eggs in this dry desert landscape. 

I have to look for a large, bushy plant. Maybe creosote bush or under an acacia tree with leaves to protect me from the sun and keep my eggs protected from view. 

She was a ground dwelling bird and wanted to insure a safe habitat for her young who would be hatching after an incubation period of 21-24 days. Her gray plumage was less striking than that other mate, including a smaller topknot. They were a monogamous couple, bent on accomplishing the goal of parenthood successfully. 

Guess I'll have to settle for this patio planter and hope there are no dogs or cats around. If I get under this plant maybe nothing will notice me or my eggs. 

He was along to see that his future progeny would be safe too. He was handsome, being about 11 inches long with a wingspan of 13-14 inches. His head was copper colored, face black, outlined in white above the eyes, with a dark belly and a magnificent topknot crowning his head. 

I'll make sure she's settled in and will check with her from time to time. I'll make sure to be here when the young ones hatch. Since we had so much rain earlier this year there should be enough food for all of us after they’re born. 

They are called Gambel’s quail by the ordinary Joe but Callipepla Gambelii by those more persnickety. They are ground feeders that run rapidly, seldom flying to great heights. When they do take flight, it is short in duration and filled with rapid winged movements. 

She laid 12 eggs and only left the eggs to seek seeds or plant matter from the desert floor. The pair kept in touch through a series of slurred notes, the middle one being the highest and loudest - ka-KAA-ka. 

When the eggs hatched the babies were able to move around freely and leave the nest within hours of their birth. The persnickety call this condition precocial. The average Joe would just say» "Shazam!" 

There was one obstacle. They could not fly over the patio wall yet, but both parents offered encouragement, while pacing back and form on the wall. 

 Hurry little ones; time to move on. We 'II find a way to get you out. 

 The young chicks were running back and forth, frantically looking for a way to join their parents. The parents continued to offer encouragement though it seemed like an indomitable task. 

Inside the house the homeowner noticed the frantic drama going on outside. Stepping outside, the homeowner endeavored to gather the chicks into a small group. The parents jumped fiom the patio wall but kept calling to their brood. Frenzied activity plus a great deal of peeping ensued. An open gate to freedom united me quail family and they raced through the undergrowth with Dad in the lead. 

This quail family, not being migratory, sped out to begin their life together – the newest inhabitants of the Sonoran Desert. 

Barb Owens is a resident of Cave Creek. This is the first time that she has entered the Write Stuff contest.

 

 

 

 

2008 Write Stuff: Critter Contest, Runner-Up

Adult Division

Quail in the Pot

 By Diane McCoy-Berney 
  

     Nests Galore!

Dave and Dovie proudly displayed their "Certified Wildlife Habitat" sign in the desert of their North Scottsdale home. The wildlife "saw" the sign and took no time to move in. Cactus wrens built tightly woven cylindrical nests among the spines of chain-fruit cholla. A hummingbird built her nest on a copper wind chime. A pair of mourning doves haphazardly placed a few sticks on top a pillar under the ramada.

There are a few non-native plants growing in concrete pots in the shade on the back patio. One morning during a routine watering, Dovie discovered brown speckled eggs lying on top of the soil in one of her concrete pots. It was apparent that Gambel's quail had joined other avian species nesting in the yard! Dovie instantly became attached to the eggs as if they were her own.


     Three Months Earlier

A large and gregarious winter covey of quail moved about a desert lush from abundant rainfall. As a result, the desert was carpeted with wildflowers and native grasses. The quail scratched and pecked, ate seeds and nipped at fresh green grass. The grass was rich in Vitamin A and stimulated quail reproductive urges.

By March, a particular male quail had taken an interest in a particular female quail. He attempted to gain her attention by prodding and nudging her while the covey members made their way about their home range. The female became most interested when the male engaged in "tidbitting," the process of offering her little bits of food. The courtship succeeded! The quail formed a "pair bond" and broke away from the large covey. The female began to supplement her diet by snapping up juicy insects when the opportunity arose. Soon, baby quail were in the making.

     Nest Site Selection

The quail couple developed an intense desire to poke and search around in rock crevices and under desert shrubs. They steered clear of a rattlesnake ingesting a packrat and avoided a dangerous encounter with a gila monster that was gorging on dove eggs.

In May, the quail moved into the yard. While the male perched sentinel-like on a nearby saguaro watching for danger, the female hopped into a concrete pot and decided that it was a very special place. The pot was shaded from the mid-day sun.

The female prepared a shallow indentation in the soil by scraping with her feet. She then rubbed out a slight form with her breast. In a few minutes, she was quite comfortable.

The following morning, as the quail were going about their normal business of scratching and pecking, the female quail got an overwhelming urge to head straight to the concrete pot. All that can be said is that when she jumped out of the pot, she felt much lighter and called out, "CAH" in great relief! In the pot lay one brown speckled egg. The hen repeated this behavior every day or sometimes every other day for the next two weeks until there were a total of 11 eggs. With egg laying complete, incubation was ready to begin!

     Dovie's Worries Begin

Dave is not a worrier. Dovie, however, picks up the slack and worries for the entire family. She has racked up countless hours fretting about all the critters in the desert. It would come as no surprise to Dave that eleven little quail eggs in Dovie's pot would quickly turn into 11 enormous worries. "Why couldn't they nest in the geraniums?" "The eggs are going to hard boil in this heat!" "The pack rat is going to stash the eggs." "The great-horned owl will see them!" "They are going to get impaled in cactus!" "The pot is too tall!" "The chicks will fall to their death!"

Dave was amazed as Dovie continued worrying. "I hope our lights don't scare them." "We can't use the back patio until they hatch." "They will drown in the pool!" "No outdoor music unless it is classical!"  Meanwhile, the quail watched the human commotion from beneath a nearby chuparosa shrub.

     Time to Google

Dovie began researching all she could about quail. She learned that the hen incubates her eggs for about three weeks and that the chicks hatch in synchronized fashion just like chickens. Even the male quail can "step up to the plate" and incubate the eggs if something happens to his partner!

Meanwhile…Inside the Eggs

By supplementing her diet with insects, the hen produced eggs with large protein-rich yolks. The yolks nourished each embryo to develop into a "precocial" chick; a tiny bird that is born ready to follow and imitate parents with open eyes and downy feathers. As the embryos developed, they utilized the vitamins, minerals and moisture of the yolks and whites. As a result, the eggshells thinned as the developing chicks absorbed shell lime.

Hatching time approached and the unhatched chicks communicated with each other by peeping and pecking within their individual shells. The "first laid" pecked urgently, as if to say to the "last laid", "get with the program…we are supposed to hatch at the same time!" The last laid chicks pecked less urgently as if saying to nest mates, "slow it down …we are trying to catch up!"

     Countdown to Hatching

According to Dovie's calendar, the hen had been incubating the eggs for over eighteen days. As the eggs neared hatching, Dovie was hatching a plan of her own. Dave found out about Dovie's risky and ridiculous plan when he got home from work on day nineteen. He was going to have to rig up a wooden "exit" ramp that the baby quail would certainly use to get to the concrete below. It would prevent the baby chicks from falling, risking injury or even death!

It is amazing that the quail were not frightened off by the gaudy, rigged up ramp when they returned to the nest after pecking and scraping out dinner! The hen just hopped into the nest and resumed incubating.

     Pipping and Hatching!

On the 20th day, nine of the eleven chicks were pecking holes from inside their eggshells, a process called "pipping." Although each chick was tightly confined inside the shell, each managed to pip holes in a somewhat straight line around the shell circumference. Some pipped a little faster than others, but a synchronized hatch was well under way!

By late afternoon, nine newly-hatched chicks stretched tiny wings and limbs while their downy feathers dried. The new parents were on high alert and the entire family spent the last night in the pot preparing for the next days inaugural adventure out of the pot. Dovie called an organization that rescues and rehabilitates native birds. They told her what to do if any chicks or eggs were abandoned. All of Dovie's "ducks were in a row," so to speak.

     Ready, Set, Go!

On the ground below and top knot bobbing, the male quail repeated calls of "cah-CAH-gah…cah-CAH-gah" as if to say, "jump-DOWN-now…jump-DOWN-now!" The hen prodded the chicks while in the pot. The time had come to leave the nest even though two eggs had not yet hatched. Dovie, hearing all the commotion, witnessed the quail parents attempt to coax the tiny chicks to leap out of the pot. To Dovie's horror, the chicks ignored the rigged up ramp, and one by one leaped out of the pot during the next hour.  Each fell two feet to the patio below and stumbled a bit, but quickly recovered and darted around in sheer excitement. Their tiny little legs were working and to Dovie's amazement, there were no broken bones.

Mother quail led a parade of nine downy quail chicks into the dense safety and shade of a jojoba bush.  Dad followed the brood corralling those that darted out of line. Meanwhile, two unhatched eggs remained in the pot.

     Quail Rescue and Rehabilitation

Dovie did not dare to go immediately into the back yard. She was worried that doing so would scare the new family of quail away from a tiny water dish or that the parents would fly out of the yard, leaving the chicks behind.

A few hours later, when Dovie thought it was okay, she tip-toed outside to peek in the pot. Her heart sank when she saw one lone chick and one unhatched egg.  Both needed IMMEDIATE rescue intervention!

Dovie gently scooped up the tiny hatched quail. She wrapped the weightless little chick in a warm towel and placed it into a deep box. She also removed the unhatched egg, wrapped it in a warm cloth and rushed to the Quail Rescue and Rehabilitation Organization where it would be incubated.

The siblings were raised by professional rescuers.  Three months later, they were released with a covey of other rescued quail. There stood the "Certified Wildlife Habitat" sign. And that is "eggsactly" what happened!

           Diane McCoy-Berney lives in north Scottsdale. Diane was a winner in last year's contest.