Y X TA M A YA M U R R A Y
T H E C OYOT E PROBLEM
Unapologetic savagery
Y X TA M A YA M U R R A Y
T
hree weeks ago, while walking on a paved road cutting through Griffith Park, I found myself halted by a blonde woman wearing an anxious, clenched expression on her pretty round face. “Careful! There are coyotes here!” she said. I turned to see her trailed by three smiling canines with nimble, almost levitating gaits. The coyotes skipped forward with their heads low to the ground, and did not appear much frightened of the woman, me, nor a group of bicyclists that came zipping suddenly up the path. “Watch it!” the woman yelled, this time to the cyclists. She checked on her charges, which serpentined in jerky movements to avoid any collisions. When the 113
