The Uninvited Guest

A tense night on an Arkansas porch; a bold, hungry coyote eyes my loyal doggie, Ajax.

The porch boards groaned under my boots. They were worn smooth by years of porch sitting and rockin' chair nights. I'm three miles from the Oklahoma State line, and a soft hum stitches Arkansas to Oklahoma's wild edge. The soft dusk cloaks the hills, and Ajax, my scrappy Malte-Poo; he's all bristle and bark, growls at a shadow slinkin' across the gravel road between us and the forest. A coyote, I reckon, is eyein' my dog like a thief in the dark. The air's thick with pine sap and pollen. Not tonight, Buster. I snatch the thermal scope, its glow strippin' the night bare. There — slinkin' across the gravel road, is a coyote, lean and sharp, ribs juttin' like a broken fence. It creeps low, thinkin' Ajax is an easy dinner.


I whistle loudly, shrill as a hawk's scream, and the world holds its breath. The coyote freezes, eyes like phosphorus in the low light, starin' me down like I'm the fool. Strange, that. Most coyotes skedaddle at a twig's snap, but this one's got hunger carved in its brain. It's bold as the Ouachita's granite bones. The forest pines loom silent, watchin' this dance of nerve and need. Ajax growls, his hackles up, thinking he's a big dog but too small to know he's prey. My heart's a drum, poundin' for my dog, this scrap of loyalty who'd face a storm for a pat. The coyote don't flinch, and I feel its crave, a mirror to the land's own hunger, chewin' at us all.


I leap from the porch, boots kickin' gravel like scattered stars, hollerin' fierce to protect my little buddy. That's enough. The coyote bolts, tail a flicker vanishing into the forest's darkness, where the Ouachita National Forest swallows sound and sin alike.

My breath's ragged; I guess I was holding my breath, and Ajax trots back, tail waggin' like nothin' happened. I kneel, rufflin' his hair, feelin' the warmth of him against the night. A whippoorwill sings, mournful like it knows the coyote's still out there, circlin', waitin' for another chance. I stand, scopin' the dark, knowin' the wild don't quit. It's us against its teeth, and I'll whistle a thousand times to keep Ajax safe, to hold this fragile patch of home.


The stars prick the darkening sky — sharp — like truth, and I linger, listening to the breeze's soft whisper through the Pines. That coyote's hunger haunts me, a shadow I can't hate, born of the same dirt we tread. He's fortunate I don't eat his kind. I reckon it'll slink back, driven by a fire I half admire. For now, Ajax curls by the door, and I'm guardin' this porch, this dog, this life, till dawn cracks the hills open for a new day. My feet burn from a thousand needles caused by the neuropathy in my lower body driving deep to the bones in my toes, while in my skull, my silent screams bounce around. The constant struggle to maintain my composure is tiring. I strip off my boots and socks and sigh from the short-lived relief that bare feet and the false ember of the pain medication brings as it reaches the receptors in my brain. Still, between the inked lines of hope and despair, I'm thankful for the small spaces of beauty still left in life.


—Noisy Wren, 25