February 17, 2026 by Diane Snyder
Morning’s first light reveals a few fresh inches of snow on my deck. It also reveals something else, paw prints beginning at the top of my driveway, moving up the path to the deck stairs, and continuing along the deck to the sliding glass door of my home. Opening the door, I bend down to get a closer look, and then I retrieve my phone to take a few photos. Using Google’s assistance, I try to identify the animal who was my middle of the night visitor. Since I often see deer walking through my yard, that’s my first guess. Still uncertain, I email the photos to Kevin, the contractor who had installed the door the previous day. “Kevin,” I say, “Some animal must have admired the new door, and I’d like to identify my visitor.” A few minutes later Kevin provides an answer. “I forwarded the photos to a friend of mine, a hunter. He says your visitor was a coyote.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. Living next to Wampatuck State Park I’m used to seeing a variety of animals, deer, fox, turkeys, to name a few. Over the forty-two years I’ve been living here there have been several uninvited visitors. There was the day a turkey saw his shadow on the glass front door and kept slamming against said door to protect his territory. A similar event happened, this time against my bedroom window. A robin had been feasting on the red berries of the holly tree outside my window. Was he intoxicated from the berries or, like the turkey, was he attacking his shadow? The crashing went on for hours, but neither the bird nor the window seemed any the worse for wear.
My worst memory, though, involves bats who had found their way into an unfinished area in the eaves behind my daughter’s bedroom. The solution to this problem involved hiring a professional bat control person as well as a carpenter to seal off the eaves. It took a while though for me to feel safe inside my home and to let go of the memory of bats flying through the rooms in search of escape.
The snow is melting down, the evidence disappearing as the day goes on. When night approaches I turn on the deck light, having been informed that light and noise discourage coyotes from approaching. There’s another way, though, to think about the coyote’s visit. I turn again to Mr. Google for some perspective. Native Americans have a variety of beliefs, from the coyote being a trickster to a teacher to a master survivor. Some cultures see the coyote as a lucky symbol while others see a warning to be cautious. The best information I take from my research is “If a coyote has entered your life, it is often a reminder to stop taking things too seriously, to trust your instincts, and to be adaptable in the face of uncertainly.,” and I’m left now finding a positive meaning from my unexpected visitor.