Alan Skeoch

Author: terraviva

  • COYOTES ARE HERE TO STAY


    COYOTES ARE HERE TO STAY

    alan skeoch
    july 2019

    “Marjorie, the coyote is  here…right behind  you.”

    “How do you know?”
    “Saw him dance down the street as if he was Prince Harry”
    “When?”
    “Right now, 8.15 a.m. on July 16…Glenburnie Road, Mississauga…got a picture
    quick…here he is…”



    “Woody was barking his head off just behind my ear as we looked out the truck window.”
    “What was  the coyote doing?”
    “Eating what was  left of a dead squirrel that a car squashed.”
    “Did  he hear Woody?”
    “Sure…but did not give a damn.”
    “Where did he go?”
    “Ducked into the Lack place…(next door to us)…he was about 10 feet from
    you as you came out our lane.”
    “I think he knows me…loves me or hates  me.”
    “Where did  you get that crazy, off the wall, idea?”



    “Alan, do you  know what happened earlier this morning…while you were asleep?”
    “Nope.”
    “Well there was  quite a fuss on the street.  A man came jogging down Glenburnie with two full
    grown Labradors…and right behind them came the coyote…almost at their heels.”
    “A  coyote could  not pull  down a  Labrador.”
    Alan, you were not there.  The man was scared…running.  He stopped to throw
    two rocks at the coyote but the stones  did not phase the coyote one bit. He loped
    along right behind them.”
    “What did  you do?”
    “I got in the truck and tried to put it between the coyote and the man.  The coyote
    just circled the truck which drove Woody wild.  Barking like there is no tomorrow.”
    Woody  probably remembers the coyote that tore a strip off his ass.”

    “Don’t make light of it Alan.  The lady next door said  three coyotes  surrounded her
    when she took the baby for a walk.”
    “The only coyote I have seen lately was the cute animal sleeping in the tangle of
    weeds at the back of our lot.”
    “He sleeps  there all day long…drives Woody mad…Lucky that half our lot is fenced.”
    “No matter what you say Marjorie, I like the coyotes…beautiful animals…great dancers…
    intelligent …survivors.”
    “”Alan, they are predators.”


    “Predators…Shmeditors…they are fascinating.  And they were here before we were here.   They have
    a right of residency.”
    “Dr. Hawrluk (local  dentist) opened his  front door yesterday and a coyote was standing there.”
    “Maybe the coyote had a toothache.”
    “Don’t be silly…”
    “Coyotes do not have dental plans…rely on charity…but they have good teeth
    normally…gnawing on squirrels, rabbits, raccoons and, if they are lucky, wayward cats…the 
    gnawing keeps their teeth in good  shape.”
    “Alan, stop that drivel…this is serious business.”
    “Sorry.  Just trying to make the point that coyotes have become part of our 
    urban landscape.”


    “They move so fast…so delicatlely.   Look at the pictures I took…almost seem like mirages…like there
    was no coyote present…just blurred images.”

    (Marjorie, talking to Woody our dog, as she often does)_
    “Alan would not say that Woody if that coyote tore a strip off his bum, would he?”

    “Woody cannot speak our language Marjorie.”

    “His tail is wagging…he agrees with me.”

    “Woody can spot a coyote before we can…maybe the smell.”

    “He does  not love those creatures  as you seem to do…proving
    he has  a higher level of intelligence than you, Alan.”

    “Probably true…”

    alan skeoch
    July 2019

  • FIRST SUNDAY IN JULY: OUR LIFE IS FULL OF LEAVES…ETC. JULY 6, 2019

    AHH! THE FIRST SUNDAY IN JULY.

    (Of all the Sundays of the year…52 of them…the first Sunday in July is the most dazzling to Marjorie and me.)

    alan  skeoch
    July 7, 2019

    So let’s make a  game of it.  SEE IF YOU CAN FIND

    1) Our farm attic  gothic window with stained glass and top hat boxes.  (easy…first p;icture0
    2) Our front lawn in Toronto
    3) Our big swam with water lilies
    4) Our new crop of flax
    5) Our other family farm with stone silo
    6) Our wilderness trails
    7) Our trip through Limehouse…cross RR bridge, up escarpment road
    8) Our peculiar collection of shapes stuffed in the old green house
    9) Our living room in the old  Freeman farm house
    10) Our effort to grow milk weed for the Monarch butterflies
    11) Our days of glory on the football field … yes, both Marjorie and i …she was
    an SPS cheerleader but no picture
    12) Our stuffed porcupine (on a beam, high above the guy in plaid shirt)
    13) Our walnut trees
    14) Our water trough vegetable gardens
    15) Our favourite game on a board made by hand
    16)Our  version of “The Tangled Garden”
    17) Our almost forgotten International W6 tractor
    18) Our abandoned  threshing machine hidden on a tree clad hill
    (once belonged to Angus McEchern on farm next to ours)
    19)  Our fanning mill, our pump organ, our wood wheeled wagon
    20) Our recently refurbished cream separator
    21) Our poppies that appeared without our knowledge but are welcome
    22) Our gravel clad bridge between the two big ponds
    23) Our old  three furrow drag plough 
    24) Ourselves
    25) Our old farmhouse beside our ancient walnut tree

    IF YOU CANNOT BE BOTHERED…THEN JUST FLIP THROUGH THE PICS…THEY ARE RELAXING.

    alan and marjorie









  • RAVENS…ARE VERY SMART THEN WHY ARE THEY NOT HOUSEBROKEN? JULY 5, 2019


    IF  RAVENS  ARE SO SMART…THEN WHY ARE THEY NOT HOUSEBROKEN?

    alan  skeoch
    July 5, 2019

    A pair of ravens have assumed they have the right to raise their young in our barn.   This year they chose
    a portion high above our prop storage shed.  The nest is  huge, maybe 3 feet in diameter made of sticks  
    so large it is a wonder the ravens could lift and weave them into a nest.

    They are smart birds.  They know who we are … recognize our faces …and make raucous greeting sounds
    when we have the nerve to peek into the drive shed  which they have claimed as theirs.

    I wish they did not feed their young  baby birds plundered and  murdered from other birds but we, as humans,
    do the same.  Seems that chicken has become a main course for all of us.

    But the ravens are a problem.   How do I put this delicately?


    Notice how perfectly they keep their feathered bodies.  Very neat.  Like tuxedo class of humans.  Right

    But they are not perfect.


    “Listen, bud,” quoth the raven, “Mind your own business.  We live here now.”

    “Well, Mr. and  Mrs. Raven, your chosen home could do  with a toilet.  Instead you have used
    all my prize rental goods as if it was a place to slather with your excrement.”


    The farm is  quite pretty…complete with a hand made field stone silo dating back to 1870



    Yet look what the ravens have done….


    Could be worse, I guess, as the Ravens could have chosen the farm house for their summer home.


    This has become their rearing shed…sadly.


    Seems they also use their own nest as a toilet.


    Now I must face the clean up…Yuck!


  • I do not know why WOODY love me? No big reason to do so.


    I DO NOT KNOW WHY WOODY LOVES ME

    alan skeoch
    July 2019



    I do not know why WOODY love me, but he does.

    He has no special reason to love me unless being taken for 
    granted is a reason.
    I do not spend a lot of time petting him as others do.
    Even strangers  give him more attention than I do.
    But he love me.
    How Do I know that he loves me?
    He waits at the bottom of the stairs each morning for me to descend, his  tail thumping
    the floor or the wall.
    And then as my foot touches the bottom step he leans into me…body tight and tipped,
    tail whistling in its own created wind.
    Ah, I know you think I feed him and that food is the love  trigger.
    But I only feed him occasionally, maybe four times a  month.
    Every other day Marjorie feeds him.
    She also brushes him, walks him, doctors him when he has a sore paw
    or an oozing coyote tear.
    But he loves me.
    Loves Marjorie as  well but she has earned his love.
    I have not.
    Yet he waits beside my truck lying prone on the green grass
    anticipating a ride to nowhere in particular as long as it is with me.
    And when I drive in the lane alone, Woody rushes out to
    the drivers  side with his nose tight to the crack where the door will open.
    He does this  every time I come home alone.
    I might rub his  forehead  a bit but otherwise do not go crazy with affection.
    But I know he loves  me.
    Sometimes  he goes crazy when I pull in and he starts to run around
    in big circles, all four feet in the air such is his  speed…he runs in great loops
    around trees and buildings always  arriving back close to me.
    He wears his joy in ways such as this
    And when he disappears  and I call him with frustration in my voice
    I always find he is just behind me…silently padding along as I search
    for him with impatience in my voice.
    Woody does  not like to be bad but he can be bad at times,
    especially when we fail to keep the garbage high off the ground
    or when a pound  of  butter is  left tantalizingly balanced on the edge
    of the kitchen island.
    He  will steal…temptation becomes just too great.
    And when he steals and I get angry Woody drops to the floor
    Rolls over on his back 
    Offers his life
    And rolls his eyes
    Which makes discipline seem an invitation
    For me to raise my voice in anger.
    But he loves me still.
    Why?
    On two occasions I have forgotten he is with me at the farm
    And driven part way home before reaching my hand behind me 
    in search of his paw on the bench seat.
    Most times that paw is present.
    But twice, maybe more, it has not been there
    And I have stopped, cursed, turned around and retraced my way.
    Only to find Woody waiting for my return curled up on the farm porch.
    He loves me…trusts me…with little reason to do so.
    Love is one of the great mysteries of life on this earth.
    The decision to Love is  a force more powerful than any other…stronger than greed,
    anger, pride, self-obsession…
    Love is irrational I think
    For Woody has no earthly reason to love me so much.
    I have given him no reason to do so.
    And yet he loves me.
    He does not expect me to change.
    He does not want me to change.
    He loves me as I am.
    Why?



    alan skeoch
    July 2019

  • “COYOTE IS AFTER WODDY, DO SOMETHING.”. June 31 2919



    Begin forwarded message:


    From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
    Subject: Coyote wall. June 31 2919
    Date: June 29, 2019 at 3:53:22 PM EDT


    “COYOTE IS AFTER WOODY, DO SOMETHING!!”

    alan skeoch
    June 2019

    “Alan, the coyote was back last night at dusk…I think he wants to get Woody”
    “Forget about it…Woody is too big and does  not wander.”
    “Sure, sure…don’t you remember the slash on his bum from a coyote Woody thought was friendly.”
    “Scared hell out of him…came running up to me and leaned  against my leg.”
    “Well, surely that would teach you that coyotes are dangerous.”
    “Damn beautiful animals as long as  the mange doesn’t get them.”
    “Alan, we have a pack of coyotes  living in the bush back of our house…that is scary.”
    “Live and let live, Marjorie.”
    “Do you want Woody killed?”
    “Never happen, our dog run is fenced.”
    “Not any more…coyote has been digging under the chain link.”
    “Imagination.”
    “Sometimes  Alan I find you irritating…maddening…far too laid back.”
    “Show me the hole.”



    So that little incident started our Canada Day week end.  Fence repairs to keep the coyotes out.
    I am not proud.  I admit that the repairs were done by the female crew living with us.  They had
    seen the coyotes and  Woody nose to nose with wire mesh in between.  I had not seen this contact
    so I was  a little less enthused about fence repairs.




    Women are better at this kind of thing anyway.  Moving cement blocks from place

    to place to frustrate the coyote.  They were good at the job.



    “While you are doing repairs, I am going coyote hunting.”

    “Alan, come back here.”

    “Just hunting with my camera.”



    Our house lot is long and wild…50 get by 400 feet.  Part of the ancient Mississauga

    First Nations territory.  Last part they held.   So it is nice and verdant…wild.




    Works was progressing well


    About half way down our lot, we had built a fence to keep our  dogs from irritating

    neighbours.  We have had lots of dogs…Shadow, Sunny, Molly, etc, etc…and now
    Woody who is about as laid back as his owner except when the coyote comes calling
    at dusk every night.  Then Woody barks.  Very brave barking since he is protected
    by the chain link fence.
    “Alan … the fence has been compromised,,,where are you going?”
    “See if I can  get a picture of the coyotes family…back in the bush.”



    And so I used the camouflage of greenery to escape the fence building…just like

    the coyote…I was hidden.




    At the back of the lot we keep this old dump rake as a reminder of the days long

    ago when this was a hay field.













    I know the coyotes were watching me but I could not see them…lots of places 

    to hide and slink about.







    “Alan, you did  nothing to hep the girls…nothing.  As  usual.”

    “I was on point…the point man in the defence of our fort…doing recon”






    “The least you could is fix the gate…handle not working…enough of a gap for

    coyote to get through if we are not careful.”

    “Get Gabriela on that…she is  right handed.”
    “I wish you would stop using that left handed  excuse.”
    “That excuse has worked for 80 years so I have not intention of
    giving up a good thing.”






    “OK wise guy…we are going to lock you out there with the coyotes…right now.”




    “So here I am … inspecting fence repairs from the outside.”

    “Quite amazing work…lifting cement blocks…placing them…now let me back in!”




      “

    Somewhere behind you Alan, a coyotes is salivating…slobbering…anticipating a good meal.”


    alan skeoch
    June 2019


    Sent from my iPhone