He’s following me. Why? Is he rabid? Is there a stick, or a rock near by I can throw?

I look over my shoulder, the coyote is still there. Just slowly following me. He’s not acting aggressive, but rabies is still a concern. Maybe I should have brought pepper spray.

I start singing to myself, to calm myself and to focus, and to somehow show this coyote I am not afraid.

He still following me.

He is getting closer, but not too close.

Is he hunting me?

Studying me?

What does he want?

I panic, and start to run. Stupid, I know. Panic does that.

Faster, and he is keeping pace, but still not over taking me.

I know there are no other humans here, I am alone with this coyote. I know also that they don’t seek out humans to hunt, but again, rabies (hey, this is Connecticut.)

I trip over a branch, and fall face first.

I’m slightly dazed, and turn over.

The coyote is standing over me, staring.

He drops something.

It’s my wallet. I didn’t realize I dropped it.

I dumbly pick it up, and look at the coyote.

He looks back for a bit, then sighs.

“You could say ‘thank you,’ you know,” the coyote says, shaking his head.

I’m still sitting in the middle of the trail, watching him walk off. I hear him mutter, “Humans these days, so rude.”

A good thirty minutes pass, and I am still sitting in the middle of the trail, trying to figure out what just happened.