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Kirby, my roommate at the time, approached me and asked. "You came home a week or so ago telling about the one that got away. I think we should put the skills to the test, let's enter the coyote contest in Central Utah. It’s $40 a team to enter.” I didn’t hesitate. “Sure, let’s give it a try.” The contest was to be held the first weekend in December. I left work early the Friday before, and we were on our way. We had to register between 7:00 and 8:00 PM. It was going to be tight. I worked as an automotive technician at the local Ford dealer, and had to stay later than anticipated to get a customers' car back on the road for the weekend. Thanks to dry roads, long stretches of desert, and no Highway Patrol, we made it with time to spare. We then retired to Kirby’s parents’ home for our nights rest. Kirby’ kicked me at 4 AM and we were off to the coffee shop for breakfast, then out into the desert we went. Kirby led me south of town, and up a narrow canyon. We spotted a group of crows on top of a little diversion dike, built to control runoff. I found a suitable place to park and the hunt was on. We perched on the up wind side of the dike and were looking away from the very narrow canyon we had just traversed with the pickup truck. I picked up my midrange rabbit call (Tom’s favorite out of my collection) and began to call. I waited and began to call again. The crows had returned and circled a few times before moving on. I blew on the call again, and I caught his movement from the corner of my eye. I slowly moved my head to get a better look. There he was 30 yards away looking right at me. I sat motionless hoping Kirby’ would see him and take the shot while I had his undivided attention. He began to sidestep, as if he had identified me as a threat. I hurriedly shouldered my 22-250 found hair in the scope and jerked of a shot and the race was on. We emptied our rifles and watched in aw as the coyote grabbed another gear and disappeared into the heavy brush. My Leopold 4.5-14 was set at 14, and for all I know that hair I saw was on his foot. However, I had a nice view of him as he made his escape. We continued hunting all day regardless of the wind, and saw no more coyotes. Darkness fell on that humiliating day and it was time to go to the check in point. We were the third team to check in, the first empty handed, but we were in third place for a few minutes. Food was on the table and we feasted. Come to find out we were not the only ones to miss that day. A government trapper hadn’t seen a piece of fur all day. Kirby and I returned to his parents’ home and told our story. Kirby’s dad has hunted coyotes most of his life. In fact, Kirby's mom boasts it was coyote pelts that put dinner on the table in their early years of marriage. Kirby's dad laughed, as if taking pleasure in our misfortunes, “I’ve missed my share.” He continued with accounts of coyotes getting away. We told him of the government trapper and other well-respected coyote hunters that hadn’t seen a dog all day. Kirby's dad again laughed “I would much rather be lucky than good.” a term I would later learn to appreciate. I dreaded the ride home the next day. I knew Tom would be calling later that afternoon and I would have to relate an account of another educated dog. I wasn't looking forward to the ribbing. The call came and Tom’s reaction surprised me. He laughed harder than Kirby’s dad had. I was not amused, that everyone was laughing at my misfortunes. “You need a longer barrel on you’re gun.” he said jokingly. “Why is that?” I asked. “So when they come in close like that you can hit them over the head with it!” he was rolling with laughter. I was not laughing, and cut the conversation short and said “We’ll see you at work." I sat back and began to analyze the full day of hunting. Kirby and I had followed the rules that had been laid out by our mentors, and had come up disappointed. Then I realized. That coyote hadn’t followed any of the rules. First, he came in fast and tight from down wind. Second, he came in from an area that we had just driven through. Both Kirby and I had completely blown that area off, we figured everything in that canyon knew we were there and wouldn’t respond. We expected the coyotes to come from up wind and try to get down wind, options that we had well covered. My set of rules I had developed just went from set in stone to general rules of thumb. I realized coyotes do not have rules to live by and had no regard for the ones that I had set out for them. The term, “I would rather be lucky than good.” began to sink in. I began to chuckle about my experience that weekend. I returned to work the following Monday. I had made no secret of my weekend plans so many inquired. I was no longer upset, so I could relate my experience lightly. Lad, another co-worker expressed a desire to go coyote hunting. By this time I was eager to have anyone along who could keep their composure and shoot straight. We agreed on a day. The day finally arrived I steered my truck into Lads driveway about an hour before the sun was to come up. Lad met me on the porch with rifle in hand. "Are you on call?" I asked pointing to the cell phone on his hip. "I'm always on call" he responded with a grin. “So how close to town do I need to stay?” “About a half hour or so, there are options if the situation arises.” I decided on an area fairly close to town were coyotes had answered my howls a few nights before. We stopped for a supply of Mountain Dew and a dozen doughnuts and we were off. I rolled to a stop between two knolls, we loaded our guns and worked our way to our stand. I began howling. The reply came from a distant coyote. My heart began to pound. I let things calm down a little before starting my rabbit cries. I made two stanzas before I heard Lad say “There he is!” I turned just in time to see the shotgun pellets kick up dust all around him and it was over. My first dog successfully called to the gun. It wasn’t my gun that tipped it over, but I didn't care that dog was half mine. ~B.J.W
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