As we turned the corner and drove away from the Osage orange tree, the hair on Foxy’s back turned into a mow hawk and from her throat came the beginnings of a deep voiced growl.
We had spotted a brown shape that materialized in the brush and grass. At first I thought that we had been fortunate enough to spot one of the elusive coyotes, but upon closer inspection we determined that it was a mixed breed dog.
A lone mutt.
We decided to call it a wolf dog and drove on. Further down one of the other back roads we spotted a large Vulture which gave us a sideways look. “Better luck next time,” is what it seemed to be telling us.