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He was walking carefully, putting down one foot at a time, trying not to break through the thin crust on the snow. The scrawny old coyote had watered up at the tank in the back corral and was on the search for his breakfast. I leaned against the barn door and watched him. He knew I was there. He set back on his haunches and looked over at me with an expression that said, “Okay, I just took a drink of your water and now I’m leaving. So what are you going to do about it?”

I let him know by my own expression that I wasn’t going to do anything. Even though coyotes and ranchers are sworn enemies, I...


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