Raining coyotes
It started to drizzle. On our regular Saturday hike in the Gazzam Lake Forest, Annie and I regretted that we hadn’t brought rain gear. But we’d lived in the Northwest long enough to know that it wasn’t a big deal—eventually we’d dry out. Rounding a corner on the trail, we encountered a woman in a long black raincoat and a waterproof hat. She was accompanied by a little white dog, also dressed in rain gear. “Wow,” Annie said, “you’re really prepared!”
“Yup,” the woman replied with a grin, “I sure am!” In the hand not holding the leash she brandished a sturdy stick, which neither of us had noticed. “Those coyotes aren’t going to mess with us!” We were stunned by this colossal non-sequitur. But Annie recovered quicky, and in her soothing therapist’s voice said, “Coyotes?” That was just the right response. It triggered a breathless commentary about how the last time the woman and her puppy had walked the trails they were surrounded by five or six coyotes. Fortunately, the combination of the dog’s growling and her frantic arm waving dispersed the pack. This time she was ready, speaking softly but carrying a big stick. We wished each other a good walk, and went on.
Just out of hearing range, Annie and I chuckled at the monumental misunderstanding. Without wet weather gear, our concern was rain. The woman, on the other hand, was all set for rain so when it began she hardly noticed–she was thinking coyotes. It’s natural to project what’s currently on our mind onto the person we’re interacting with. And, more generally, to assume that other people see the world the way we do. How silly is that!
Once I was the recipient of an animated disquisition by a guy who had just returned from a hunting trip. He told me in vivid detail about how he bagged an eight-point buck with only two shots. He carried the carcass home in the bed of his pickup, dressed it, and stored the severed parts in his chest freezer. He couldn’t wait to thaw out a chunk, cook it up, and sink his teeth into some venison stew—nothing was as good as wild game! He was so focused on his story that he failed to notice my cringing and squirming—he’d apparently not considered that I might be a vegetarian and a lover of animals, and really didn’t want to hear his story. I have no doubt that over the years I’ve carried on equally insensitive conversations, based on the unwarranted assumption that the listener shared my politics, or aesthetics, or spirituality. Or concern for rain, rather than coyotes.
A particularly energizing thing about travel is being confronted with how different people actually are—the traveler knows that everyone doesn’t eat the same breakfast, or wear the same clothes, or even drive on the same side of the road as they do. When we travel we tend to be sensitive to and respectful of the differences. Why not extend a similar grace to others when we’re at home?
Rather than making assumptions about what the person you’re talking to is thinking or feeling, why not ask an open-ended question, inviting them to share their world. To remind myself to do that, I’ll think of Annie’s brilliant one-liner: “Coyotes?”
[The picture is of some coyote pups that were playing in our yard last fall. It wasn’t raining at the time.]
Wise advice. I’ll have to remember “He was so focused on his story that he failed to notice my cringing and squirming” next time we talk.
I always look forward to your latest written masterpiece! Reading your work is like going to a high-end art gallery! The pieces in your gallery are colourful, thought provoking, have a unique message or idea, and are painted with much skill and creativity! Thanks so much
I appreciate your observation about heightened awareness and respectful openness when we travel to foreign lands- and how that can be applied to walks in our own neighborhoods!
Ted’s Norwegian grandmother would often use a quote that loosely translated to, “We speak of things the heart is full of.” Our pets, children and grandchildren, home projects and trips taken—are all pieces from our heart. Even if they are not of interest or concern to us personally, we listen because we have been gifted something by that person. Heart treasures….no matter how banal. Thank you, Ken, for drawing our attention to this!
Wow, thanks for another illuminating essay, Ken. I am going to try to remember to monitor my expectations, which sounds easy- but isn’t !
Reading this was like watching a movie scene in my mind – you set the stage so well! How funny that Mama was talking about rain gear and the woman was thinking about her coyote stick. Normally I would be thrilled to see so many coyotes all at once, but not if they were surrounding me and eyeing my dog. Brazen!
This is such a good reminder to always be aware of our surroundings, whether it is beautiful coyotes (as pictured of your yard guests) or someone more than eager to share a story. You had me holding my breath as I rapidly read on, hoping that you did not encounter the surroundings of surrounding coyotes! Thank you for another delightful and thoughtful reading venture:-) And I am glad I was not caught in the rain 😁