In what can only be described as a flurry of wings, beaks, legs and feathers, the pair of geese moved up the hillside toward its foe. Looking more like a platoon of death than forefathers of a feather pillow, they descended upon the coyote just as she reached the near side of the pond. So intent on this brunch for her waiting brood of pups, she did not see the squawking squadron approach until they descended upon her back and head.
Cooper would remember the battle for much of his adult life. He watched the mini-drama play out before his eyes as if it were happening in slow motion. The parents rained down upon the coyote in a feverish torrent of wings, feet, and confusion. With instincts born from generations of survival, the larger of the pair began to peck and poke at her most vulnerable spots. Their large wing spans and multitude of feathers served to confuse the animal and the painful strikes aimed at her eyes, ears, and flanks caused her to yelp in pain. Suddenly the promise of breakfast had taken a diabolical turn and she was fighting for her life. Thoughtless of all but to escape the painful volley of jabs she looked left and right for escape. Finding no outlet, she leapt into the air to find freedom.
For a moment the coyote was free and then she landed on the green surface of the small pond. With a whoosh, the slime separated and the murky water below embraced her. When she surfaced, she beat the water with each front foot- gasping and clawing to find solid footing. In less than one half of Cooper's heartbeats, the geese once again descended upon their foe in a furious flurry. Now, only her head and shoulders were exposed and they continued their assault poking, pecking, pulling, and piercing her soft flesh. Soon, the coyote grew weak from struggling to stay afloat with the geese upon her and the green pool swallowed her quietly.
With an elegance that belied their ferocity just before, the geese lightly landed on the far side of the pond near their nest. The gander walked rather prissily to the nest, wagged his tail feathers, and settled down upon his brood. The goose herself began a promenade back and forth across the pond's dam a few feet from where her mate rested. There was a quiet calm now suddenly over the paddocks. The domestic dispute from earlier seemed forgotten. Then, with a slosh, the coyote surfaced on the near side of the pond. She dragged her weary, damaged, sodden body up the bank and came to stand unsteadily on all fours. Without looking back at the nest or the geese directly across the pond from her, she began to slowly walk down the hillside.
Cooper noted her defeated stance and watched her disappear in the summer grass. He watched until the grass did not sway and he could not determine her position as she passed into the valley and toward the creek at the base of the paddocks. He was filled with confusion. He pitied the coyote suddenly. He felt triumphant that he had saved the goslings but the furor he had witnessed had left him a changed horse. He had witnessed nature and brutality and death and life all in the span of a few moments. As he contemplated the meaning of it all, a delicious scent wafted through the air and found its way beneath his nose. It was the smell of June clover. Cooper dropped his long neck toward the earth and grabbed a mouthful of the sweet grass. Oh, how he loved clover in the month of June.
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