One of the trails I walk almost daily is called Coyote Way. I thought it was just a cute name for a gravel trail in a wannabe tough nature park. But no, there really are coyotes traipsing along their namesake trail, and all the other trails in the park as well. That includes the paved path leading across the entire park, from the parking lot to the neighborhood of mansions on the other side.

I’m not a poop expert, but as far as I can tell, there are two types of poop on the paved path. I used to think all the little piles were deposited by dogs being walked by owners who either aren’t paying attention to what little Muffy does or who don’t give a crap what their precious Muffy does. I’m pretty sure it’s the first. This park is in Wilsonville, where everyone is fastidious about doing the right thing.

Now I know almost all the piles of poop were left there by coyotes. How do I know? I’ve become an astute observer of poop piles, mainly because I want to avoid stepping in them. However, over the past weeks, I’ve noticed that the piles of poop don’t look like the poop I pick up when I’m dogsitting the little dog who lives in Scottsdale. In fact, dogs who eat dog food (or possibly human food) don’t poop out tiny fragments of bone. Unless they’ve been munching on rabbits, birds, squirrels, and mice. And the occasional deer.

One day I was walking the paved path, which runs in places between dense thickets of trees and bushes. I heard a violent shaking in the leaves. The noise was close enough that I put my hands up, expecting something large to burst out of the bushes right at me. The noise veered away, and then through a clearing in the bushes I saw two large dog-like creatures running fast and silent after something too small for me to see.

In my limited experience, domestic dogs do not run silently when they are chasing something. They are apt to wake up the neighborhood, bellowing about how they’ve treed a squirrel. I’ve spent some time in the southern Arizona desert. I know what coyotes look like. These two creatures were definitely coyotes, bushy with winter coats, and dashing flat out amongst the trees.

Now I know how Coyote Way got its name.

Back to the poop thing. At first I wondered why I didn’t see much poop on the gravel trails. For some reason, the coyotes preferred to poop on the paved path. Then I realized. Would you want to poop on harsh wet gravel, or worse, in tall wet grass? Me neither. I mean, I’m not all that discerning about where I poop, given my lifestyle, but even I draw the line at wet grass tickling my butt.

Poop mystery solved. However, lately I’ve noticed little loosely woven bundles of slimy wet grass, some on the gravel trails, but mostly on the paved path. No mystery here. I recognize these little grass bundles. Any cat or dog with access to green grass will at some point upchuck one of these slimy green bundles. Hopefully not on your rug, where hopefully you will not step in it with your bare feet.

As you might imagine, I watch where I’m walking.

The coyotes in this park may be shy about being seen but they aren’t shy about making their presence known. Sometimes I start walking early in the morning, and some of the piles are fresh, as if the coyotes have sauntered across the path just minutes ahead of me. They see me coming, poop right where I might step, and then continue on into the tall grass. I bet they hunker behind bushes, watching and waiting to see if I am not paying attention.

So far, I’ve managed to keep my shoes poop-free. But if there’s anything I know about coyotes, it’s that they are wily.