Among Us

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Among Us
As more coyotes are spotted in the Washington area, residents are facing a disturbing reality: They are here to stay.

Looking out over an audience of wriggling school kids at the General Brock Elementary School on Main Street in downtown Vancouver, Robert Boelens asked, "Okay, who knows how to tell a dog from a coyote?"

As Vancouver's point man for coyote management, Boelens has seen hundreds of urban coyotes, and chased many on foot with the only weapons he has found to be necessary: his voice and a homemade noisemaker, an old cookie tin filled with nails. Boelens, 35, is a self-taught naturalist and former television reporter who is sometimes referred to by school principals as the Coyote Man, a nickname he dislikes. Six-foot-two, with wire-rimmed glasses and light brown hair, he has the patient, quiet manner of a man who spent his post-college years caring for injured wolves and other animals at a wildlife hospital. Because small children are more likely to attract the attention of a coyote, at least half his time is spent visiting schools to talk about coyote habits. The balance is taken up investigating reports of nuisance coyotes and answering calls from homeowners to the city's coyote hotline.

"First," Boelens told the children, "coyotes have really big ears, and they always point up. They're two big triangles, and they never flop or lay back." Next, the eyes: never blue. Then, the tail: A coyote's is always down, even when the coyote is running. Finally, Boelens said, the coyote has a rim of white fur around its mouth. "So it looks like it's smiling," he said. That helped give the coyote its reputation among Native Americans as a trickster and clown.

Vancouver's coyote management program is based on three principles, all related to the one fact that all the local coyote attacks had in common: The coyotes had been fed by humans. All six coyotes trapped and killed after those incidents had human food in their stomachs: beef stew, perfectly cubed potatoes, dry dog food. The feedings -- some deliberate handouts, others inadvertent (i.e., trash) -- had undermined the coyotes' natural fear of humans and taught them that people were a source of food. So it was clear that an effective coyote management program would have to include management of human behavior, too. Large posters went up in city parks and at golf courses with messages that included: "Do not feed coyotes. A fed coyote puts your community at risk."

Now, in the school auditorium, Boelens went further. "If you feed a coyote," he said, "you are signing its death warrant."

Boelens ran down a list of the coyote's remarkable athletic skills: Coyotes can jump over a six-foot fence, using their paws to vault themselves over the top. They can run 40 mph. They can swim. And leap 15 feet to pounce on prey. They eat mice, snakes, grasshoppers, birds and rats, as well as woodchucks, squirrels and, in spring, small fawns. They move about by day or night, depending on when food is most plentiful and they feel most safe. They don't live in dens, except in spring, when they are raising young. Most of the year, they rest under trees or in any sheltered, out-of-the way place. While they may meet to groom and socialize in family groups as large as eight or nine (including that year's litter of pups), coyotes rarely move around in groups larger than a pair. Their prey is small enough that no pack effort is needed to bring it down.

Then Boelens came to perhaps the most important part of his presentation. He raised his voice and slowed his speech: "One thing you should never, ever do when you see a coyote is run. What you need to do is make yourself 'big, mean and loud.' Be as big, mean and loud as you can." He raised his hands over his head. "This is what we do when we see a coyote," he said, putting on a fierce face and lunging toward a group of teachers. "Go away, coyote!" he roared.

"I'm teaching the coyote not to come around," Boelens told the children. "If all of us behave like that, we'll have no problems."

After the presentation, Boelens got into his battered Honda Civic and drove to a well-to-do neighborhood of large Tudor-trimmed houses, tall trees and manicured lawns. Recently, homeowners there had reported coyotes crisscrossing the neighborhood's winding streets in broad daylight. They had snatched outdoor cats and even a small dog from behind fenced yards. (A coyote can sail over a four-foot fence. To clear a six-foot fence, the coyote uses the top of the fence to boost itself over; thus the spinning roll bar on a "coyote fence.") In this neighborhood, Boelens quickly discovered a typical coyote hangout: an empty lot, where overgrown blackberry bushes and tall grass were providing ideal cover. In Vancouver, the single most effective coyote management tool, said Boelens, has been persuading home and business owners to clean up empty lots and be more careful with trash, a change that ultimately required tightening the city bylaws.

In addition to public education and cleanup, there is a third leg of the Co-Existing With Coyotes program. Its peaceable goal and name notwithstanding, the program recognizes that, inevitably, there will be problem coyotes whose presence cannot be tolerated. These animals -- coyotes that have shown clear signs of aggression toward humans and do not respond to efforts to drive them off -- are reported to city animal control, trapped and euthanized. (Because a coyote that is moved even miles away will often make its way back, in most cases relocation of an aggressive animal is not considered an option.) But Boelens has almost never had to recommend trapping and euthanasia. In the vast majority of cases, coyotes that are making themselves too visible in places where they aren't welcome can be permanently chased away with minimal effort. This is Boelens's job, too. He does it by acting kind of like an aggressive beat cop who notices unsavory types lurking in the 7-Eleven parking lot. He chases the coyotes on foot, yelling and waving his arms and shaking the cookie tin filled with nails. After a few chases, the coyotes invariably get the message and move on, or at least switch to a more nocturnal hunting schedule.

"I've confronted 100 coyotes and never had one that didn't scatter," Boelens said.

The following afternoon, Boelens took me to Langara public golf course in the city. It was 4 p.m. and getting dark. The sixth fairway was a sea of frosted grass, and the final golfer was walking toward the clubhouse. The start of evening rush hour could be heard on the boulevard just beyond a row of dark fir trees. A sliver of white moon hung in the cobalt sky.