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Bust Out Magazine

Winter 2008

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Coyote

by Rick Klein


The sun rose, spreading its warmth across the flanks of Snowy Mountain like her grandmothers’ golden red quilt. Wendy pulled her jacket snug around her shoulders as if it would insulate her from the chilling bite of North Wind.

Motionless, she sat on a flat granite boulder watching a rabbit hop around the base of a large igloo shaped bush. Every few hops he stuck his nose between gaps in the dense foliage. Occasionally his whole head disappeared into the small round green leaves. She wondered if the rabbit had lost something precious.

Intrigued by his antics and bent brown ear she began to sketch him on the pad in her lap.

“Who said you could draw me?”


photo of Rick Klein

Startled, she sat up straight and looked around.

“Over here,” said the rabbit, sitting back on his haunches laughing at her, his considerable belly shaking with mirth.

“Are you talking to me?”

“Of course, who else is there to talk to this morning?”

Wendy pulled her lavender beret over her ears to shield them from an insistent North Wind. Quickly she drew a large brown rabbit with a bent left ear while still looking directly into his glistening brown eyes.

“Are you looking for something?

“I’m looking for my brother. Last night Coyote caught him.”

“Aren’t you afraid Coyote will catch you too?”

“No, Coyote sleeps during the day.”

Wendy snuck a glance at her pad and with a few quick strokes of her pencil added long whiskers to both sides of his twitching nose.

“What will you do when you find your brother?”

“I’ll sit with him and cry until the sun rises once again, then I’ll cut a lock of hair from his tail and go home.”

“Why do you sit with him all day?”

“It is the way it is done in my family. The last time I saw my brother he was hanging from Coyote’s jaws. It’s not the first time Coyote has taken someone from my family, but he was my twin. I must sit with his spirit as it prepares to depart.”

With a fuzzy brown paw Bent Ear brushed a tear from his cheek. He hopped onto the rock to see what Wendy was drawing. He smiled, a big toothy grin, as he looked at the series of images she had sketched.

“Is that really me?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s you.”

“Don’t show Coyote.”

“I won’t, but why?”

“When I was very young Coyote caught me by the ear and tried to carry me off, but my brother bit him on the leg. While he was leaping around in circles howling he dropped me and we jumped down into our burrow. My ear never straightened out. I don’t want to remind Coyote.”

With a few more strokes of her pencil she drew two skinny rabbit rears with short scruffy tails disappearing down a hole.

“You seem so brave to be out here, but you’re still afraid of Coyote, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but if all I do is think about Coyote I’ll never leave my burrow. There’s a difference between the fear in front of you and the fear in your own head. The fear in my head is a creation of my own imagination. I am wary of Coyote, but today he will sleep with a full belly in his hole beneath the shade of the coyote bush.”

“Why cut a lock of your brothers’ hair?”

“In my family we keep a lock of hair to honor the dead and treasure their memory. Even though my brother is gone we still have memories of the lessons we learned with him, the joys we shared and the love we had for each other. I will keep it with my other treasures in a small wooden box carved by the Beavers of Snowy Mountain.”

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