I stood at the edge of a pier, my young daughter by my side. We gazed upon the expanse of the ocean, both of us hoping to see something new and exciting. We heard a splash below us and turned our focus to the water beneath the pier. There, we saw a young orca swimming alone, appearing to be playing. The two of us marveled at its sleek black and white form, wishing we could run our hands along the smooth body. As if reading our minds, the whale giggled. It stopped at the edge of the pier and told us to close our eyes and count to three. Without hesitation, we did as we were told and when we got to three we found ourselves covered in blow. The twinkle in the young orca’s eye gave it away. We knew he was nothing but a prankster. After a good laugh, we leaned over and rubbed the slippery firm flesh of the whale’s back. We had never been so happy.

I woke up in the morning with a smile on my face. I had never dreamt about whales before, much less a talking one. When I played the dream back in my mind, I couldn’t help but chuckle. It seemed so ridiculous, but that’s the thing about dreams; they feel so real while you are in them. My smile faded once I opened my eyes. The morning sun was casting its first rays through my back bedroom window and I knew it was time to get up. However, that simple task seemed impossible as I turned on my side and allowed the tears to roll down my cheeks. I wept for the loss of the joy I had felt for the past 2 years, 2 months, and 4 days.

Unfortunately, my pity party was cut short by the frantic yowling of Igor and his sister Quincy. Spoiled housecats don’t care if you only want to hide under the covers all day. They want their breakfast. So I dragged myself out of bed and hobbled down the stairs. When I reached the last one, I sat down and stared into the dimly lit kitchen and thought about the same time just 24 hours earlier. Oh, how different that morning was when two tiny paws pressed against my shin as I bent over to lift 8 pounds of warmth and love into my arms. I kissed the top of her head and carried her to the front door so we could both start our day.

That morning the routine was usual for a Sunday. Get up. Let the dog out. Make the coffee. Let Chloe in. Feed the cats and dog. Wake husband. Pour the coffee and head out to the porch to enjoy the weather, the hummingbirds, and quiet conversations all while my little dog nestled in beside me. It was a two cup morning for me with no reason to rush. I sat and read a book for a bit and planned my day. In those moments, my life felt perfect. Chloe, distracted by the squirrels scurrying to and fro with their foraged hickory nuts, jumped off the sofa to give chase. She had made it her mission early in the summer to protect the yard and gardens from them and the woodchucks. The second cup of coffee finished, I put down my book and got up. I walked to the edge of the porch and watched Chloe at the garden fence before heading inside to get ready for the day, leaving my husband to enjoy the rest of his coffee.

Less than a minute later I heard my daughter calling for me. I ran out of the bathroom to see what was the matter and she told me that Dad was yelling for me. I put on my shoes and ran outside. He shouted, ”A coyote took Chloe” and started running into the woods. I ran along the stone wall and up into the orchard calling for her, sobbing, and eventually falling to my knees. I’ve seen domestic dogs kill woodchucks. I knew there was no way my little chihuahua could survive a coyote attack. I felt my daughter’s hand on my shoulder and heard her shuddered breath. I stood up and knew I was going to be sick. Several minutes later Jim returned. He lost sight of the coyote. It had run off through the woods and the brush, probably easily covering a mile or more before enjoying the breakfast that was once my beloved companion.

I stumbled my way into the house and expelled all my misery. I curled up on my bed and cried. But I had to pull myself together. First I had to find out exactly what happened and then I had to warn all my neighbors. Jim explained to me how he heard a yelp and got up to check on Chloe. He saw the coyote with her in its mouth. He gave chase and even threw his coffee mug at it. The unfazed coyote simply leaped over the stone wall. That’s when Jim ran in to put on his shoes and yell for me. I felt compelled to call all the neighbors with small dogs and children. If a coyote could be so brazen as to enter my yard merely feet from the house and the porch where we sat, then the same could surely happen to all of them. We all have woods behind our homes and none of us have ever experienced anything like this.

I exhausted hours explaining what happened to both the neighbors I contacted and the ones who heard through the grapevine. Everyone from the dearest of friends to the most casual of acquaintances offered their condolences and support. The women seemed to share my sorrow while the men shared Jim’s rage. Everyone seemed to agree that the coyote must be destroyed. All talked out, I stared into the woods that no longer felt inviting. Some small part of me hoped that my little puppy princess (a name my son gave her) would somehow return. The rest of me knew that I would never see any part of her again. I prayed that the coyote choked on her flea collar. I felt betrayed by the nature that I work so hard to protect. I wondered why the beast couldn’t eat the multitude of groundhogs and rabbits that got fat off of my garden. I paced the perimeter of my yard and wandered through the woods hoping to find some answers. All I found were a butternut shell and a blue jay feather. I studied them and put them in my pocket. For some reason, they felt significant.

I spent the rest of the day envisioning the incident and feeling terrible for my husband who witnessed it. I imagined the coyote just behind the stone wall stalking my pup. I felt angry at my cluelessness. Was it there the whole time she was chasing squirrels? Did her yipping and yapping sound like “Come and get it” to the coyote? Why didn’t I look into the woods when I checked on her before going inside? I know I’m not to blame, but I wonder if I was too complacent. I know I will never allow myself to become that comfortable with my surroundings again.

To block the litany of “what ifs” I decided to distract myself. I don’t drown my sorrows, but I do bake them away. Long into the night, I baked until I ran out of sugar and butter while listening to funny podcasts and occasionally replying to thinking-of-you texts. I even had a jovial conversation with a neighbor. She informed me that she was ready and willing to run the coyote over if she saw it. Anyone willing to wreck her new car and raise her insurance rates is a true friend. When I was finally finished, loaves of banana bread, zucchini bread, and lemon sour cream pound cake cooled on the counter. Thoroughly exhausted, I headed up to the bed and fell into a deep peaceful sleep where I dreamt about the sea and an orca.

Now I find myself sitting in front of my laptop still trying to make sense of what I can only describe as a surreal and traumatic experience. I feel like I am missing a limb. I don’t know where to direct my anger. Should it be towards the coyote that is living by instinct and opportunity? Should it be towards the humans who are encroaching on its habitat and forcing it to move? My area has seen an explosion of new development and because of that, we have had an increase in black bear, coyote, and fox sightings. They are being forced to acclimate to the changes that they had no part in making. I half-joked to a friend that the wildlife is becoming just as lazy as their fast-food-loving human counterparts. Why make the effort to hunt traditional food sources when there are easier ones to grab? Hence why the red foxes steal hens, the bears rummage through garbage cans, and why coyote attacks on dogs are increasing. Heck, even deer now eat out of people’s hands. The animals are becoming very comfortable around humans because we have given them no choice. I almost feel bad for the coyote that broke my heart. People made it the “monster” that it is and because of that it will be destroyed. I’m not the only one around here who witnessed its brazen ways, but I’m the only one who was impacted by it and now all of us are on edge.

I’ve had over a week to process the dreadful occurrence. I’m no stranger to loss or heartache so I know how to compartmentalize all of my emotions. I can easily conquer a to-do list while also feeling grief. But I also need to find meaning in my pain because if it isn’t meaningful then all of it is for nothing. The late psychoanalyst Carl Jung wrote, “The world into which we are born is brutal and cruel, and at the same time one of divine beauty.” and Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist Viktor Frankl believed that the only way to survive suffering is to find meaning in it. That’s the human experience for you. Pleasure and pain. Joy and sorrow. Beauty and destruction. We can’t appreciate one without surviving the other. I just wish we didn’t have to lose loved ones in the process.

I think that is why I held on to the nutshell and the feather. I needed to feel the contrast while also feeling connected to the land. During the moments of the day when I felt most numb, the roughness of the shell and the silkiness of the feather kept me grounded. I may have lost my sweet little pup, but I found reminders that my journey was far from over.

If you’ve wondered along with me before then you know I’m a big believer in signs. And that is why for days now I have not been able to stop wondering about my little found treasures and my unusual dream. A nut or a feather may not seem significant, but to a woman stranded in a storm of negative emotions, they might just be the things to pull her out of it.

The butternut caught my eye because I do not have such a tree on my property. It was an odd find in an area dominated by maple and ash trees. Butternuts are also known as white walnuts and walnuts are associated with strength and inner hidden riches, both of which are useful while going through a major life change. I think that day counted as a major life change, not just for the fact that my family experienced a loss, but because that day changed how I view the seven acres I have called home for nearly forty years. Then I found the feather. Strength and inner riches won’t serve me if I don’t know how to use them, but the symbolism of the blue jay feather can fix that. It is said that it is symbolic of great inward intuition and when you find one, the universe is helping to guide you on your journey in life. And lastly, I dreamt of an orca. I learned that dreaming of an orca is a sign that you are ready to confront your emotions and deal with them by making the connection between your conscious and subconscious self. Maybe I’m grasping at straws, but I feel that all three signs were exactly what I needed to come to peace with what happened.

I can’t change what occurred. I can only accept it. I honestly don’t want the coyote killed, but I also don’t want tragedy to befall anyone else. This is something I need to reconcile. I know that I must adapt. This area has changed and so has the wildlife. If they are adapting to living with humans crowding them out, then I guess I must learn to live with them feeling comfortable coming onto my property. We are all part of this land and my hope is that all of us can find a way to live on it in peaceful coexistence with minimum conflict. In the meantime, I’m going to do my best to keep all of the animals safe while embracing both the beautiful and brutal moments of my human existence. This was not my first tragedy and it won’t be my last. I just need to appreciate the far more numerous joyful events that happen in between the unpleasant ones.

Chloe (October 12, 2012 - September 4, 2022) would be turning 10 next month. She came to me on June 30, 2020. She was only supposed to stay a week but her owners saw how happy she was with me and asked me to keep her. They had acquired her when her previous owner went into a nursing home. The elderly lady’s daughter is a friend of mine and asked if I could babysit while the family went on vacation. It was the photo of Chloe in the wheelbarrow that made her decide that she should stay with me. She told me that she wanted Chloe to have a great life since her mother no longer had one. It broke my heart to deliver the sad news to my friend. Two families are grieving the loss of Chloe.

On September 14th, just hours after I finished writing Beautiful & Brutal, the coyote came back. This time he did not take a life, but lost his. A neighbor spotted him heading down our road and called to warn me. We watched as he trotted along the fence line behind the horse barn, then turned into the woods behind our house. As he approached the back of the house, my husband fired the fatal shot. If we hadn’t been warned, I fear that I would have lost a goat that evening. His death does not make me happy. All it does is make me worry a little less about my animals. I guess that is some small consolation. I hope we never have to shoot another wild animal again.