Rural wildlife.

Around midnight last night, I walked through my living room and, as I often do, stopped at the window to peer out at the night.

There, not ten yards from me, though separated by the sheets of glass in the window well, was a doe, feasting on my damned birch tree that continues to struggle to survive.

I took a moment to enjoy the sight of the deer, but then irked at the thought of the cost of replacing the tree, I took to flashing the porch lights and garage lights, and even the inside living room lights, in hopes that it might frighten the deer away. Of course she didn't seem to give a damn about the flashing lights. Probably added to her enjoyment of dinner. "Oh, a light show! *munch munch* This was a good choice! *munch scrunch* Just like they all said, *chew* 'Try the birch at Stix's, it's young and tender and going fast. *munch munch slop* And if he's awake, he'll put on a show."

Then, just as I gave up, the deer stopped, stiffened, and cocked her head warily. Then she bolted. I watched her white tail until it was all that I could see of her as she disappeared into the dark down the street.

And then I saw why she ran. Across the street, wandering through the neighbor's yard, was a large, mangy, hungry-looking coyote.

"Wow," I said, out loud. "I'm glad I didn't go outside to scare off that deer," I thought. Though the truth is, the coyote didn't look like he was in to fighting for his food. He wanted an easy meal ... a lazy cat, a lame dog, stupid squirrel, whatever he didn't have to work for.

Still, the site of the predator took me by surprise, and as I closed the curtains and made ready to go back to bed, I made a mental note, "I have to be sure to tell the kids not to wander around the neighborhood after dark."