by Tom Shafer
January 13, 2022
So, like many of my writings, this one begins with me heading to my hot tub on a very cold evening (about 9° on this particular night). The moon was hiding below the horizon, allowing the stars and planets to pop brilliantly against the darkened firmament. Orion was commanding overhead, the Big Dipper, anchor of the constellation Ursa Major (the Great Bear), dominating the eastern sky. A few wispy clouds were slowly drifting by, and outside of my constant companion and irritating friend Tin Nitus, it was absolutely silent and still. Well, actually I could hear the crunching of cat treats, Boots, Rainbow, and Luna enjoying a delicious, midnight – er, 1:15ish – snack, while Nakita, smartly perhaps, refused to leave the comfort of her heated bed.
The cats finished their kibble, Rainbow wandering off toward the tree line for a late-night stroll, the others heading back to their heated homes (we have six total right now, two on the front porch, four on the back deck). Silence again descended, and I began searching the darkness for other familiar heavenly bodies: the constellations Perseus, Cassiopeia, Leo, and Gemini were in their customary winter positions, the bright stars Areturus, Regulus, and Sirius maintaining their typical stations. As always, I hoped to catch a stray piece of space dust entering our atmosphere – a “shooting star” – but I would spy none of those on this particular evening.
In the far distance, a long way off, I heard a single coyote crooning, the yips and yaws punctuating the quiet. A minute later, and much, much closer – perhaps less than a quarter mile away – the Little Miami band broke into full-throated song, the chorus waxing and waning, the soloists screeching above the fray, finishing each aria with a varying, pulsating vibrato. These nightly performances are just one of the many reasons that I love coyotes.
In this moment, I was reminded of an experience I had when my father-in-law Richard and I were following the Lewis and Clark Trail back in 2009. Because the Missouri River traverses Teddy Roosevelt National Park, we devoted one full day there, and decided to spend a little time on the Caprock Coulee trail. Fortunately for us, the parking lot was empty (one lone car), so we knew that we would have the trail to ourselves.
Caprock Coulee is a loop (a little more than four miles) that provides magnificent views of the TRNP terrain, especially from the River Bend Overlook (which is also a pull-off from Scenic Loop Drive) and Knife’s Edge Ridge. The trail also traverses wooded areas, open prairie, and old stream washes, and along the way sports petrified wood tree trunks, small hoodoos, and bison – making this the consummate hike to show off what the park has to offer.
At some point, we paused for a few minutes to eat a granola bar and take a little water. Out of the blue, Richard asked me if I had a totem or spirit animal. I admitted that I did not – to my knowledge – but that I had always had a special affinity for coyotes. Throughout my travels over many years – and even in the places where I lived – I seemed always to witness and experience these animals, and I could probably provide a fairly thorough list (though thankfully for you, I won’t do that here).
Richard further explained that everyone has a spirit animal, that these animals will appear to us (in various forms) throughout our lives to assist and guide us. He added that there were many ways to connect with one (like through meditation or dreaming), but that he felt the best way to do it was through direct connection while in nature. And, he decided that we were going to do it now. He had actually done this before, through meditation, and determined then that the wolf was his spirit animal, and he lived his life with the essence of that belief – and dressed the part as well, with many t-shirts bearing the image of the animal that he allied with and loved.
Basically, we would walk (separately) into the wilderness surrounding us, stop in an area that exuded a sense of mysticism, and wait for a spirit being to select us. He said that the animal – or bird or insect – would notice us in some way, maybe even grab our attention with unusual or atypical behavior. Most importantly, he said that the animal would choose us.
So, we headed off in different directions, into the stark, beautiful landscape of Teddy Roosevelt. I chose to follow a draw for a few hundred yards, then stepped up onto a grassy area amphitheatered (another new word) by low badland hills that notably populate the park. I found a comfortable boulder to sit on, cleared my mind as best I could, and waited for something to happen.
I didn’t have to wait long.
I had closed my eyes briefly, quickly recognizing the exhaustion that creeps in after days on the road, when I heard a stirring in the draw I had just crawled out of. At the confluence of a large mound and the old creek bed, I spied a furtive movement, an orangish flash, and watched transfixed as a young, smallish coyote dramatically entered the amphitheater.
Fearless though a little timid, he sidled toward me, eventually stopping about twenty feet away, and warily sat on his haunches. He remained totally still for a couple of minutes, his eyes never leaving mine. Carefully, I reached into the backpack resting beside me and pulled out part of a granola bar I had not finished eating. I tossed it gently in front of me, about halfway to the coyote, fully expecting that he would be startled enough to spring backward. But he did not, instead intently staring at me – though clearly his nose had caught scent of the bar. Gradually, he got to his feet and slowly slinked toward the crunchy treat. When he got to it, in one swift movement, he picked it up and flung it back behind him, close to the place he’d just been sitting. He walked back, lay down next to it, and proceeded to gobble it up in a couple of bites. Then, rather unceremoniously, he rose and ran off in the direction he had come. Now, I couldn’t swear to it, but I think he nodded to me before leaving the scene. As for me, I cautiously stood up with the pack, withdrew toward the draw behind me, and returned to the trail.
Richard was not there yet, so I had some time to process what had just happened. I reasoned that seeing a coyote in TRNP should not be surprising because the park is rife with them – and the fact that we had seen one earlier in the day. But to have one walk right up to me while I was actively seeking a spirit animal – after admitting that the coyote might be my spirit animal – well, that coincidence was difficult to brush away. Especially since I’m not a big believer in coincidences.
Richard finally arrived back at the trail, and he told me about his experience. When he first sat down, a fly landed on him and continued to pester him for several minutes. He wasn’t crazy about the idea of a fly being his newest spirit animal, so once it moved on, he waited for another encounter. Within a few moments, a beautiful butterfly, mostly black with orange and yellow markings (but not a monarch), landed on his pants, right at his knee. It remained there for several minutes, occasionally fluttering its wings, before it eventually took flight and continued its journey. We both agreed the fly was just being a fly and not trying in any significant way to connect with him. The butterfly, however, was.
I then shared my story with Richard, and of course, he loved it. He related that he had hoped my animal would be the coyote because he felt that it was a perfect match for me. According to Native American lore, coyote is known as the trickster because of his playfulness and guile. He is adaptable and wise, and is noted for his ability to find truth in deception and chaos. But he is also enigmatic and presents a personality that is often difficult to categorize properly – and must constantly be vigilant of a dark side that lives to tempt him.
In many ways, that description reflects like a mirror.
For Richard, his butterfly is symbolic of personal transformation, of the ability to experience change with grace and agility. It is seemingly always facing renewal and rebirth, but is able to find joy in the process. The butterfly is also a teacher, and is always tuned to the spiritual and emotional realms.
What a perfect totem for Richard!
So, do you have a spirit animal? Does a specific entity appear to you in times of need, to guide or advise you, perhaps physically or in your dreams? According to Richard – an honorary member of the Lakota Sioux tribe – an animal or bird or insect is out there waiting for you, waiting to help and nurture you as you navigate this realm. You may not be a believer, but I think that any assistance we can garner in this life is worth the effort. You have nothing to lose – and potentially a spirit guide to gain. What are you waiting for? Go discover your spirit animal!
This is “That’s Some Dream” by Good Old War, a song about dealing with change and life and death.
