calls of the wild
A source of wonder and fear, coyotes are remarkably adaptable. Here’s how to peacefully coexist with them.
Words by Paula MacKay
Photo: Adobe Stock/Катерина Євтехова
I noticed the coyote at the edge of the trees, watching me bike past on a summer’s eve. She was just a shadow at first, a dog-like apparition with piercing eyes. I continued to pedal along the trail toward downtown Bainbridge Island, then looked back to see if she’d emerged from her hiding place. Sure enough, the coyote was limping along behind me, pausing only after I turned my bike around. Now she was out in the open, about 40 feet from where I stood.
This was an experience I know some people dread: coming face-to-face with a coyote, nobody else around. Fortunately, fear didn’t enter my mind. I could see that the coyote was curious—and so was I. “What happened to your leg?” I uttered out loud, imagining her pointing to a passing car. But when the coyote continued to peer at me, I realized I shouldn’t perpetuate her interest in humans. “Good luck, my friend,” I said, before clapping my hands. She ran back into the woods, and I was on my way.
Harmless coyote encounters like this happen every day in towns, cities and rural areas across the nation. At a time when cougars and wolves persist within only a fraction of their historical range, coyotes have filled the void and now inhabit every state except Hawaii—not to mention Canada, Mexico and Central America. Key to their expansion is that they’re remarkably adaptable and able to thrive in a variety of habitats, including Seattle. But coyotes pay a steep price for living among people. According to Project Coyote, a national nonprofit, an estimated half a million coyotes in the U.S. are killed by the government and members of the public every year—or about one per minute. Why are they so persecuted? The answer is rooted in misinformation and fear.
I once had a neighbor who was terrified of coyotes. We often heard them vocalizing from a nearby field, and she was convinced that a mob of bloodthirsty beasts was celebrating fresh kills and looking for trouble. Her anxiety was understandable, but also scientifically unfounded.
Coyotes elicit a variety of barks, howls and yips, whose sounds are distorted as they move through the environment. This auditory illusion, called the “Beau Geste” effect, can make even two coyotes seem like many more. In reality, western coyotes average 20–30 pounds and can be solitary or live in small family groups. Coyote pairs are generally monogamous, mate for life, and produce four to eight pups each year—maybe half of whom will survive to adulthood. Parents provide high levels of family care and are very protective of their young. Remind you of anyone else you know?
What about those calls in the night that either soothe your soul or make your skin crawl? Group yip-howls reunite family members (coyotes don’t have cell phones), promote social bonding (sing-alongs), and serve as territorial displays to other coyotes: we like our home and want to stay here. Coyotes also bark and howl to indicate a disturbance, similar to when my husky mix belts out an “a-wooooooo!” in response to owls hooting in the yard. Unlike my dog, however, coyotes are wild animals and can sometimes be dangerous to small pets or—very rarely—humans. But there are myriad reasons to embrace these resilient neighbors, as long as we prevent avoidable conflicts.
“Killing coyotes fails to recognize the vital ecological role they serve by regulating rodent and small mammal populations,” says Project Coyote’s Camilla Fox, who started the national organization to advocate for carnivores and wildlife-friendly communities. Fox urges people to “appreciate coyotes at a distance, but help keep them wild and wary”—for example, by securing compost, keeping pet food inside, never feeding coyotes, and walking dogs on a leash, particularly during coyote breeding and pupping seasons in late winter and spring. Coyotes might perceive a dog near a den as a threat. In the unlikely event that you’re approached by a coyote who doesn’t back down, maintain eye contact, wave your arms and make noise until the coyote leaves. (Visit projectcoyote.org and zoo.org/seattlecarnivores/faq for more tips on coexisting with coyotes.)
Fox says that close encounters between coyotes and people are usually precipitated by the coyote’s associating us with food. A possible case in point: the day after I met “Limpy” on the bike trail, I visited the park from which I’d seen her emerge. There, at the base of a tree, I came across a huge pile of kibble that put Limpy and our community at risk. “While perhaps well-intentioned, feeding a coyote causes a whole host of problems and can lead to habituation and a loss of fear of humans,” says Fox. “The coyote might then be killed by wildlife officials.”
Despite our deliberate or inadvertent provisions, the coyote’s diet tends to be dominated by foods available to them in nature. “Many people seem to think they’re only consuming pets,” says Samantha Kreling, a PhD student in the Prugh Lab at University of Washington, who is analyzing coyote scats to determine what’s on the menu in greater Seattle. “So far, they’re mainly eating rabbits and rodents, and a lot of different fruits,” says Kreling of her preliminary results. Still, she adds, cats are not an insignificant prey item and typically represent a small percentage of urban coyote diets. Project Coyote recommends that cats be kept inside for their own safety—especially from vehicles.
Coyotes have intrinsic value, too, says Fox, adding that a lot of people appreciate being able to see coyotes in their neighborhood—and therefore benefit from their mere presence. Indeed, Limpy and her relatives remind me of how lucky I am to share the landscape with a diversity of beings. And that we’re all just out there trying to get by.
citizen science
Want to help monitor wildlife in your neighborhood? Contact Bainbridge Island Land Trust to volunteer with the community science-based Seattle Urban Carnivore Project, coordinated by Woodland Park Zoo and Seattle University. Since 2019, the project’s volunteer-run, remote cameras have captured thousands of coyote photos from across greater Seattle, including Bainbridge—where 31 coyotes have been identified from DNA in scat samples. You can also report your carnivore sightings at carnivorespotter.org. Coyotes represent roughly half of more than 2,000 observations reported on the website each year, reflecting their broad distribution and our own fascination with these wild canids.