Foxes, Coyotes, and the Power of Cute
The anthology Mooncalves came out this week, containing a number of fine writers and genuinely disturbing stories (I just saw blurbs for the anthology today from Kelly Link and Dan Chaon, two writers I worship, and in the case of Mr. Chaon, steal ideas from). My story, Edge of the Forest, is in there. It’s my coyote story, and is drawn from my own experiences with trying to drive coyotes from my yard, written about at length in this newsletter. The idea behind the story is one explored in several Suburban Horror stories of mine, where the protagonist becomes dimly aware of a larger mystery surrounding him, hiding in comfortable shapes and ordinary routines. The uncanny lurking in the shadow of the familiar is my writing specialty.
We have a fox in our yard these days, two or three days a week. He (or she) seems pretty healthy. Certainly very handsome. He follows the sun’s route across the back yard like a lazing cat, lolling against rocks and trees. He leaves when the sun goes down. We don’t feed him, and while there’s a steady supply of squirrels down there, I’ve never seen him hunt. I think he uses the lawn as a safe spot, from coyotes and from the dog park behind us. Maybe from bears too, as they show up in this area, their presence captured on Ring cameras and security systems, videos shared with neighbors in the safe light of day.
The obvious question: why did I try to get rid of the coyotes, but am welcoming the fox? What’s the difference? Is it just because the fox is cuter?
Well, yes.
Not just that, though. I watched one of the coyotes rip apart a squirrel, maybe ten feet away from me, separated by a thick pane of glass. It was grisly, and scary. Maybe the fox does the same thing, but I’ve never witnessed it.
The coyotes also clearly suffered from mange, with large patches of fur missing. When I first saw the male he looked so bad I thought he was a dead dog (this happens in the story too). So, I had an instinctive revulsion to disease in my back yard.
Those two objections to coyotes sound pretty reasonable. I don’t want dead animals in my back yard, and I don’t want disease in my back yard. It’s window dressing though. Our cats never go outside. Like, ever (they’re in the story too). We go outside a little, but no coyote is going to hurt us, they’re too frightened (a detail NOT in the story is that shaking a soda can of pennies at them twice was all it took to scare them away). And I don’t think we’re susceptible to mange.
I don’t want the unknown lurking in my back yard. I am uncomfortable with unpredictability.
The fox is cute, and behaves like a cat. We’re not going to let him inside or anything, but we’ll give him full run of the yard. We’ll go “aw” and post pictures of it on Facebook.
The coyotes weren’t cute, and they behaved like animals. They were animals. Their behavior was unpredictable. They killed. They succumbed to disease.
The fox is an animal too. It also kills, I’m sure, and is equally prone to disease. But I haven’t witnessed it. The fox is good at mimicking the behavior of our domesticated pets.
And that’s the crux of the decision. The illusion of controlled civility gives the fox a pass. I’m comfortable with this illusion.
All these ideas, and more, are explored at length in my story, Edge of the Woods. I thank John Thompson for putting together such a good-looking book, and such a fine group of writers.
You can buy Mooncalves here: https://no-press.org/mooncalves/
Peace.