# Coyote Trails

**Published by:** [POAPs Gone Wild](https://paragraph.com/@poapsgonewild/)
**Published on:** 2023-07-24
**URL:** https://paragraph.com/@poapsgonewild/coyote-trails

## Content

After an hour of glassing I had the fucker in my sights 30 yards downhill, male alpha of a pack moved in a couple months prior and been scavenging around and waking me with their howls and even killed a couple cats and attacked my neighbor’s dog. It was a wonder nobody’d gotten him yet because our little community of Freshwater, just outside Eureka, is of the enterprising cloth and don’t take kindly to unfriendly, uninvited strangers, but this group had proved especially elusive and it was especially hot that August so I suppose most folks had opted for the TV and the A/C over a coyote hunt. Not an exaggeration I had my finger on the trigger when a woman I’d never seen drifted in front of my sight. She was wearing a camo hat with a huge brim and big tinted ski goggles, draped fully in a bug net. A less experienced hunter may not even noticed her and shot her dead or at least maimed her. I quickly pointed my barrel at the sky and made a bee line. She was a quarter mile from the creek that separated my land from the land the Forest Service stole from my great uncle in a card game in the ‘50s. It wasn’t uncommon for a wanderer to get turned around and I’m not the type to come in guns blazin’ but she was especially far off course and the way she dressed put me on thief alert. Hey there, I said, stern but friendly tone. She seemed unphased by my sudden presence and waved, sort of preoccupied pushing aside some shrubs and peering around. I couldn’t tell if she was lost or only pretending in the hopes of getting out of trouble. You know this here is private property. She paused and lifted her net as she wiped her brow. I was surprised to see she was only about 35, nice shape on her. Nipples pricking through her dri-fit like a couple hollow point 9 millimeters. Looked like she didn’t need a bra to hold herself up neither. Is that right, she said. Well, sorry about that then I suppose. She didn’t sound too sorry. Can I help you find something? She pulled her ski goggles up to her forehead, blue eyes sizing me up. I’m looking for the road. I sensed bullshit. Quite the getup you got there, I chuckled, waving at her outfit. Where you coming from anyway? Don’t see how that’s none of your concern. We both lifted our chin and eyed each other, sniffed the air. She had a heavy backpack but her clothes were too tight to conceal a firearm. Her belt had a buck knife attached. The clasp was buckled close. Then she broke the silence by busting up laughing. I ain’t comin’ from nowhere in particular, mister. Got sick of paying lot fees a few months back, sold the trailer and been havin’ myself a walkabout. True bushwhacking, what do you know about that. Say, that’s a Henry Big Boy Lever Action Centerfire ain’t it? Looks brand new. She pointed at my rifle. I keep it well-maintained. I prefer the Remington 760 myself. You from around here then? What makes you say that? She took her backpack off and set it on the ground and started untying the top. I didn’t like that at all. Way you said it, sounded like you walked right off the trailer park into the wilderness and just kept going. This made her bust up laughing again. Wheeze of a heavy smoker. Nah, lived here a while but I grew up real redneck, not like these fake hippy rednecks. I bristled, being born and raised just like my daddy and his daddy before, and nobody never called none of us no fuckin’ hippie. Oh, just where’s that you grew up then? She scoffed. Somewheres the school woodshop had a sawdust pile for a spitoon, nowheres near here. How about some honey? She opened her backpack and reached inside. I raised my rifle. Easy mister. She slowly took her hands from the pack. Not here for trouble. I think she meant to open the pack without me seeing its contents but I walked over and had myself a look. No firearm, but there was a small scythe and a big spool of twine, telltale sign she was after some people’s crop. There was also a big old honeycomb wrapped in a plastic grocery bag. She saw I saw the tools. Thems for roof building. I let it go, for the moment. If I accused her of something she’d probably just run off, and I wasn’t in no mood for shooting someone in the back. She dipped her finger in the honeycomb and stuck it out like I should lick it. You scared of germs or something? She said, when I hesitated. I shook my head and licked. It was delicious. Good boy. She kind of patted my lips and winked. The whole exchange sucked the manhood right out of me but also I found I rather liked it. It was since Christmas I been with a woman, an unsatisfying lay with a fisherman’s wife who wanted the lights on and demanded I repeatedly tell her how much I loved her bald cunt. Say, they got ranges nearby? Seeing that rifle of yours got me the itch for some proper weapons and proper targets. I got cash, my treat if you drive. We might stop at a Murphy’s or something on the way, I need some essentials. Been five days since I had a drink. I’m Daisy by the way. She had the whole thing planned out so quick I couldn’t say no and I was in no position to be turning down quality time with a nice-looking woman anyway. I’ve had cousins younger than me drop dead no notice. The coyote would live to see another day. I waited in the truck while she ran into Safeway, then we shared some whiskey and by the time we got to the gun club everything seemed to be going great. Out of the blazing sun, net gone, I could get a solid look at her and she did not disappoint. Long dark hair, thick and vibrant even if it was a little greasy. Long legs too, sure, hidden by tattered fishing pants, but those pants couldn’t hide an ass toned from a lifetime of walking in the woods. She could drink too. I liked watching her close her eyes and lick her lips after each sip. I imagined she was doing it for other reasons. We were practically giggling like school girls when we stepped into the gun club (I took her down to Eel River, where I figured I wouldn’t know nobody), but things changed quickly. There was a QR code taped to the counter and the man behind the register said we should go ahead and scan that fucker with our phones and we would get what’s called a POAP and that POAP might get us discounted shooting in the future and also let us maybe connect with other people who liked to shoot and also just be a nice little piece of digital art that we could own forever. I’m not much for collecting art but it sounded interesting enough so I reached for my phone. Before I could lift it, Daisy slapped the shit out of my wrist and absolutely lost her mind. You know what that there is? That’s a goddamn tracking device! Prolly work of the NSA themself, the devil arm of the devil government! You know what you gon get you scan that thing? Put on goddamn watch, that’s what you gon get! Get your name toppa the list when they come for all our guns! You all dumber than a fucking box of pink dildos! She slammed her fist into the counter over and over, gasping for air like she was drowning. Now, I don’t think – I tried to interject but it was no use. She seen red and couldn’t see nothing else. She was a rabid racoon. Hey, y’all got a piece a paper? A crazed smile on her face. Think I’ll write out where I keep all my gun safes and thems unlock codes and mail it right to the governor himself cuz I heard he mail me back some shitty watercolor paintin’ his son did between whackoff sessions to kiddy porn! So on so forth. The man behind the register didn’t care much for the outburst but just let her wear herself out, and maybe even he had to admit a QR code art an odd choice for a gun club. Perhaps the man who run the club was banging some young hottie who come up with the idea and he went along with it hoping for an extra blowjob or two. I need look no further than myself for proof men agree to some things for a woman. She went on, ain’t nowhere free no more, always under the eye of the gun-hatin’ Big Brother, all this and that, and I’m not sure if she ever have stopped if a fat guy in a wheelchair hadn’t rolled around the corner and said he were calling security. That got her backing away, a few comments about bullshit fake taser-wielding cops couldn’t do shit as she slammed the door behind her and jogged to my truck, grabbed her backpack from the bed, crossed the highway, and disappeared into the trees. The fat wheelchair man said he was sorry but he didn’t think he could allow me to shoot either now – even though I’d done nothing particularly my affiliation became disqualification (he said it all poetic like), but I could come back another day, after the dust settled on our little prairie here. I said of course I understood and I had some coyote hunting to get back to anyway, but actually I wouldn’t mind still getting that POAP to see what that funny stuff was all about and he apologized again but said the POAP was for patrons only, lest we muddy the collecting experience.

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