My dad walked his dogs every day, twice a day. We live on a ranch next to some oak woods. About a mile away? The dogs get to play and smell wild stuff and scamper after rustlings in the underbrush.

One day, dogs get outta sight of my dad during the walk. Coyotes are in the woods. He hears the coyotes sound off, he tries to call to the dogs. He is running, trying to find the dogs / coyotes.. One dog returns. The other one does not..

We had plan'd to go riding that day. Dad gets to the house, we saddle up, and ride back to the place where the dogs were last seen. We search.

Dad finally finds little Shelby, dead. Coyotes didn't even tear her to shreds. Not a lot of blood. I just remember seeing little spots of blood where they'd bitten her.

Dad puts her on the back of his saddle, and says she can rest, now. I still cry to this day, thinking about it.

I don't hate coyotes. They just do what they do.

Mom wanted to do the thing where she gets another dog for dad, but she gets the same small dog breed. We name this one Bart. One day he just disappears after being let outside in the morning. Dang it, Mom, no more small dogs. Coyotes just get the best of them.

It's just one of those things, living on the ranch, barn cats and dogs sometimes get eaten by coyotes, owls.. And now the wolves are killing our calves. Won't be long before they come right up to the house and kill pets.

Sigh.