Coyotes

Last night I heard the coyotes howling. It's a sound I love. A form of night music.
When I was a kid, living in the hills of northern California, I heard coyotes often, however, it was different. A coyote would start up, then another some distance away would join in, and then others. They would continue, and the calls would get closer to each other, until the sounds were coming from the same location. Then they would stop.
I always assumed they were calling up the pack for an evening hunt. I've since heard the pack is pretty much family and stays together.
We often heard coyotes when we lived in New Mexico, and sometimes I would see one or two. They were business-like and fearless, and I was out walking my aging golden retriever. We would stop and eye each other, then go on about our separate business.
In Florida we live in cow country, inland from the coast. The coyotes howl when the evening train rumbles and roars past, sounding its whistle at the road crossings. The coyotes all sound close together, and they are definitely responding to the train, not calling up the pack for a hunt.
I have seldom heard coyotes when camping, but on occasion I have. It's always a magic moment. Oh, I know, I've heard concerns about coyotes being a threat to pets and livestock, and they can be. Urban deer can be a threat to garden plants too. For the most part, coyotes seem to do pretty well eating rodents, rabbits, and whatever. I still think they are magic, just as I do urban deer. When makes them seem magical is the idea these creatures can live so close to human development, and yet maintain enough discrete invisibility to survive. Of course, squirrels and songbirds do the same, but since they're smaller it's less surprising that they get away with it. But deer? And, coyotes?
Maybe they seem magical because they are so wild, even in close proximity to humans. They're not trying to move in, or become adopted. They're wild, living life as they would in the wilderness, accommodating our presence in whatever ways they can. But, they're still wild. Maybe I'm grateful they put me in touch with my love of the outdoors in ways other things don't, except campfires and cooking sourdough over a bed of hot coals.