Thursday, June 30, 2016

The Coos

"What the hell was that?" I wondered, lying there listening in the wee hours, hoping to hear it again. It was a long drawn-out low-voiced howl coming from a little distance but not far beyond the bedroom window, which I keep open all night long in order to hear the birds and breathe in that fresh, scented, cool air.

It was not a sound I'd heard before. Not a coyote; not a wolf, which I've only heard on TV or radio. Later that day when I got home from work, I did a search for cougar vocalizations and didn't recognize it there either.

"I'm going to have a look at my buddies across the road," said Scott. "I haven't seen them yet today." There's a lot of space over there and they can graze back behind the bush or lie in the shade of the trees.

The small herd that was pasturing around our yard has been moved over the road to Scott's parents' land, for fresh eating. The moment they hear him start up the riding mower, they come at a gallop and wait impatiently for the grass clippings to be thrown over the fence:

The "coos," as my Scottish brother-in-law would call them. 


  1. I like cows. We had only one cow on our farm when was growing up, a milk cow. She liked to roam and was an expert at deciphering weaknesses in fence structure. We kids loved that cow, I don't think the adults responsible for her did though.

  2. Was it the mooers who were cooing or did you sort out some other critters who have this ability. I've never forgotten my mourning doves beneath my bedroom window back in Ontario who would coo softly through the night. So comforting.


  3. I love cooing things: babies. That's the only one I ever hear these days, but I've had my the day


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