Hunger bitten for breakfast
Hunger bitten for breakfast
“Get outta here you mangey coyote. If I had a gun I’d shoot you.”
“If you had a gun, you’d probably shoot yourself.”
George coyote took one last look at Frankie Chocolate’s two plump little dogs then trotted back into the open field. Breakfast wasn’t gonna serve itself. Six field mice and one vole later George sat on a hillock and considered his life. It was hard being a coyote. Men are always threatening and yelling after you. And what did he ever do to man? Eat an occasional pet or two? Sure? But he paid for every bite. That last blue Siamese he had nearly scratched his nose off before he got her trussed up and put an apple in her mouth. Who invited him to Illinois anyway? Why did his grandfather have a wandering bone. They should have stayed west of the Mississippi where the armadillos are fat and the prairie dogs were near sighted. “Mama, is that a bush or a coyote sneaking up on us?”
“I don’t know dear, why don’t you wander over there and find out for us?”
What kinda mom would do that to her kit? A mom with sixteen other kits he guessed. And it was cold here in the land of Lincoln. Northern Illinois was anyway.
The sun was out so he lay on his hillock and let it warm his pelt. If he couldn’t get that old hack Frankie Chocolate’s dogs Oreo the little black and white mixed collie usually ran free all day. He’d call some of his buds up, get them to bring cold beer and pretzel. He got out his phone and looked up recipes for baked gluten free dog with Parmesan crust. The End.