Coyote

"Once they came down only at dark from the canyons. Now they trot out bold in daylight on sunlit pavement. Still, if you move close, they vanish fast into shadows under the freeway, blocks from the ocean. Up beyond the flammable mansions on over- built lots, where they once burrowed safe, gave birth to ravenous young. Now they watch under scaffolding swinging above sliding foundations. Near the homeless tarps, scattered fires."

"Wolf instinct awakes in the once-wilderness. They'd feed at your jugular. You mean nothing to them, you who believed in the evolved domestic. Hunger, not love, draws your dog. The need in the gut. Each choice made in your life sentimentalized. Like the young you fed first. Gone too when you return with nothing but your worn advice on how to survive."

Coyotes once descended only at night from canyons but now move boldly in daylight on sunlit pavement. They vanish quickly if approached and retreat into shadows under freeways near the ocean. Over-built, flammable mansions and shifting foundations have displaced burrowing habitats where they once birthed ravenous young. The animals now watch under scaffolding near homeless tarps and scattered fires. Wolf instinct awakens in the altered wilderness and predators would feed at a human jugular. Hunger, not love, drives dogs; sentimentalized choices leave nurtured young gone when caretakers return empty-handed.

Read at The Atlantic