In the summer of 1999, there was a predator at our ranch in the country — and there was a predator in our neighborhood. These are the lessons we learned from those times.
We love to watch the families of wildlife from our vantage point on the porch. Soon after the sun sinks behind the tall oaks, the buzz of mosquitoes begins to replace the buzz of the hummingbirds, the light dims enough to confuse your eyes, and shapes emerge just beyond the reach of the floodlights.
The deer feeders attract first the blackbuck antelope; but nervous and wary, they bolt at the least sound or movement from the porch. We laugh as they “boing” out of sight. Cautiously, quietly, the fallow deer approach the yard. Mr. Majestic and Starbuck were still young white fallow. In time, they would be magnificent. Much more accustomed to humans than the leery antelope, fallow come close enough to the porch that we can see their scars from unknown encounters. We love these animals and hope they can sense our devotion to them. We name them according to their personalities and we claim them. When we throw out deer corn, the sudden movement spooks them — they don’t understand we mean them no harm — they slowly return, but not as close this time.
That summer we experienced a drought. The air was heavy and dusty. The red clay dirt was packed solid. The tall weeds rustled; the grass was parched and dry. The animals didn’t come around as much. We assumed they were taking refuge in the creek bottoms where there was still some moisture and relief from the heat. We watched their old tracks for current signs. 
We missed them and hoped for a glimpse, but the incessant heat drove us inside.
That September I caught up with some friends and they wondered if I had heard the latest about the _____ family. I was absolutely shocked to learn that the father was arrested and taken in handcuffs from his home! For molesting young boys!
How could this be? I was heartbroken and sickened for the wife, my friend. After dropping my youngest at school one morning, I made a quick detour to visit her. She came to the door and I didn’t even know what to say. Somehow I made her understand that I shared her sorrow. All we could do was hug each other, neither of us able to voice our terrible feelings. She was reviled in the neighborhood and somehow blamed for what she did not do.
I still don’t understand any part of the sad story. Months went by while I lived my life and my friend was still caught up in a nightmare from which she can never awaken. That hot summer her life and that of her children changed forever.
The coyote, it seems, was present and quietly stalking during those long hot months. At first we blamed the heat, the oppressive heat. We missed seeing the baby antelopes. We could spot the herds from far off but they were unusually skittish.
Our daughters were the same age, friends, sharing many of the same classes from kindergarten through high school. Never telling what I knew, I kept asking my daughter how her friend was, “How is she, is everything OK?” The two had not been together in a long time although they were still classmates. Apparently the child stayed busy, quietly immersed in her studies; still pretending her family had not fallen apart.
We began to see tracks of the coyote, right down the main road, out in the open; but never a glimpse did we see of it. We set out to hunt and never heard a sound. Convinced we had pursued the predator off the property, we were still troubled but felt we had done our best.
We never realized how close the predator was. We felt so safe, so protected in our ignorance. Looking back, we didn’t know exactly when our “almost tame” fallow disappeared. Our ranch foreman found their carcasses in the dry creek bottom. Following the creek, we were stunned to discover the predator had taken so many of the babies. Left unchallenged, the predator had simply fulfilled his nature and taken down whole families. What is it they say? “All that is needed for evil to thrive is for good men to do nothing”. But we didn’t know. As responsible stewards of the land we repaired roads, mended fences, set out worming chow, arranged vaccinations… it was our job to know. There is no excuse for not knowing. Why didn’t we miss the smaller animals, the bunnies, the foxes, the armadillos, before they all but disappeared?
So he was arrested, given probation terms, fired from his job, prohibited from entering our subdivision, prevented from seeing his family, eventually jailed.
We hired a trapper who laid out traps and snares. He trapped five coyotes in two week’s time. He now routinely checks for the least sign of entry. We ride the fences searching for fresh holes especially after rain when the earth is soft. The armadillos, you see, dig under the fences and then the coyotes, smelling fresh dirt, dig in. The bobcats simply scale the fences, so traps are our only defense. We are wiser now; we are vigilant even when there is no evidence. By the time there is a sign; it is too late.
We love our animals. The herds are thriving now, but we will never recover from the loss of Mr. Majestic and Starbuck.
The pain and turmoil in the predator’s family in no way diminish the hurt and anger and loss of innocence suffered by the predator’s victims. We are wiser; but in our compassion we are still confused. How did this happen? What do we do now?
We learn… evil is silent and patient. The predator is resourceful, block one avenue; he seeks another. He thrives in the hidden places where no one looks. He is active no matter what the climate. He is unseen but bold. He depends on the silence of the victims. He takes the little ones first; they are easy prey. Then, he tears apart whole families. He is persistent. So must we be. We must recognize the circumstances; guard the boundaries. No matter what the climate, we must search the hidden places, check out the venues, remove the opportunities, before we see the signs and it is too late.
