Coyotes in the Rain

Exploring universal themes of belonging, community, and the individual’s place in the world.

Growing up in northern California and spending my entire 60+ years of life within twenty minutes from the coast, precipitation was a given. The relative humidity was always high, and I never knew how much I loved it until I moved away.

I’ve been in Arizona going on the fifth year, and I am adjusting. I used to wake at night thinking I heard the tink-tink of rain on the roof, or the plink-plink of dripping runoff spilling down the rain gutters.

Having heard that comforting sound all my life, of course I took it for granted. Now when my imagination gets the better of me, I strain my ears to register any sound that might be rain to no avail. We live in the desert, and have been seeing drier than normal conditions for a few seasons.

One morning before sunup this past summer, I stepped outside to get Winnie’s walk going, and surprised a pack of coyotes at the bottom of our court. From the top of our driveway, Winnie saw them too, but stayed quiet, so we hung back to observe.

Unusual oasis found.

As the pack of about six or eight coyotes moseyed about, there were two standing with their heads down at the base of a tree in the neighbor’s yard. One coyote, standing a short distance from the two under the tree, was looking around in one direction. A second coyote stood watch on the other side. Two or three coyotes were moving around the perimeter of the area. The pack was taking turns drinking from the small, shallow puddle forming at the base of the tree from the irrigation system while the others stood as look-outs.

Impressed by their pack integrity, we didn’t want to disturb them, but within seconds they caught a whiff of the human/K9 duo studying them. All heads raised and turned to evaluate the source of the unfamiliar scent. Instinct spoke to them, and they seemed to decide as a unit it was time to move on.

The herd or pack mentality regarding wild animals is how they survive. This practice helps the group ensure they meet every member’s needs to the best of their capabilities. Adapting to the harsh conditions, the coyotes found a source of water, but accessing the supply had increased risks. Dry conditions left them no alternative but to change their routine. There was no available water source in the wild, which forced them to venture into enemy territory, but they mitigated the risk by taking turns as look-out.

Although Winnie and I interrupted them, they came back the next day. To survive, the pack of coyotes learned to be persistent. I respect how they behave as a group. Their loyalty to each other is admirable. Their commitment to the group's integrity is the key to the pack’s wellbeing.

This morning, when I thought I heard the drippy sounds of rain, I only half believed. I threw open the shades and slid the glass doors wide. It was indeed raining. I couldn’t wait to get going.

“C’mon, Winnie.” I didn’t hesitate. “Let’s get out there.”

Through the neighborhood we strolled. Watching the rain accumulate in puddles on the streets and in the gutters, I remembered the summer morning Winnie and I came across the coyotes in the court. I hadn’t thought about those coyotes until this morning.

Unlike the dry summer, this fall we have gotten more rain than normal. Measurable precipitation has fallen in recent days. The washes and rivers are flowing with runoff from the mountain slopes, and the coyotes are finding water deep in the countryside away from populated areas. For the coyotes, life has a rhythm they need only follow. If only it were that easy for people.

Sitting down at my desk after the walk, with a piping hot cup of coffee in hand, I fired up the laptop and considered what I would write. Still floating in my head was the scene of the coyotes we saw frequenting the man-made water hole at the bottom of the court. I pondered the pack mentality idea.

Drizzley mornings are perfect for creative flow.

Looking out the window at our driveway, I remembered having seen a lone coyote wandering around a few years ago. That coyote hadn’t looked healthy. With his head dropped low, he had trotted by, and I could see the mangy bald spots on his skin that hung off protruding bones.

I am not sure why he was alone. My guess is that the other pack members had driven him away because their instincts told them he was ill. It has been a while since I saw that coyote. Without the support of the pack, the coyote didn’t survive. My thoughts on pack mentality settle and organize.

Pack instinct is effective when members conform to certain behaviors based on the safety of the group. Expelling the weak, sick or diseased spells death for the one but survival of the rest. Humans, being more developed as a species, take care of their old, or weak or sick members, and that’s a good thing.

Excommunicating members, like the coyotes do, is harsh. I’m glad humans don’t follow that pack rule. But that doesn’t mean we should abandon the pack mentality. In the olden times, people grew up and grew old in multigenerational households. They used to gather as a community and have big events to help each other when needed. Humans were created to have a pack/herd mentality, just like animals. Over the past century, I think we have strayed away from it.

Maybe that is what is missing in our lives.

With humans, the pack/herd mentality has become a negative thing. With the emphasis on the individual, society has driven us away from working as a group for the common good. The “me” culture has left us vulnerable.

To further erode the safety in numbers concept, there are those among us who encourage groupthink, while others see it as evil. Groupthink is a way for people to get what they want through manipulation. Groupthink ideals use the herd mentality, which was once a survival skill, to move people further away from collaboration and decision-making.

This saddens me. Taking a break from the negative thoughts, I open the window in the office so I can hear the rain outside, and smell the fresh air. Nothing like a dose of nature to soothe my soul.

The rain has softened the ground, sated the trees, and perked up the cacti. Taking my cue from nature, I feel bubbly as the streams of water trickle through the yard. Like the life-restoring rain around me, I am likewise feeling refreshed inside. But I must give credit where credit is due.

I am giving myself the benefits of a herd/pack way of living. After months of research, contemplation, and deliberation, yesterday I joined the largest community of all. I got baptized.

Taking this step has been a serious and deeply personal endeavor. Few people even knew I was going to church, let alone becoming religious. For me, getting baptized was to be a low-key event. Quite the opposite experience compared to the others walking their journey to Jesus.

Baptism is to be a person’s public display of faith. It is a symbol of entering a covenant with Jesus and accepting God’s gift of salvation through His son who died for our sins. Once a month, the church holds a ceremony. People like to yell and cheer while attending the celebration. They gather around and make a big deal of it.

Community celebrations are a ‘pack instinct’ behavior.

This month, I was one of thirty people to participate. There was an enormous crowd of folks gathered to witness their family, friend or loved one take the step. There was no one specific watching me.

That is how I wanted it to be. How it needed to be. From my perspective, it was just me, the pastor, and Jesus. The crowd blended into a generic group representing the “public”, the ingredient to make the ceremony real. Baptism was what I wanted, and it’s been a long time coming.

It wasn’t a big deal on the outside. I had come prepared. The practical side of me had a tote bag with a towel, flip-flops, and a change of clothes. I found out where to check in and stood with the other participants waiting their turn. To anyone looking my way, I appeared as innocuous as a random passenger waiting for a bus. But that was just the outside.

It was a different story from within. I was in turmoil. I had been struggling for days. Fear of missing out, fear of being left out. Two of the most common phobias among humankind. Along with these fears was my natural aversion to people, crowds and clubs. I felt very conflicted about baptism. My goal was a better relationship with Jesus and closeness to God. I knew how important it is. I didn’t want to mess it up.

After a day of praying about it, I believed this was God’s plan. All of it. My journey to finding this church, meeting with the pastor for spiritual coaching. I’d gone to meetings about Christianity and membership. I even belong to two small-group Bible studies and a verse by verse program. Not to mention the number of volunteer hours at various events. All part of His plan, and I loved it.

Juxtaposed with my emotions and drive to enhance my spiritual life were my phobias that threatened to derail my intentions. Among the many phobias I carry involving food, crowds, and amplified noises, is my aversion to public swimming pools. I was going to get into a three, maybe four-foot deep, 6ft by 10ft pool teeming with the bodily residue of at least fifteen people who were in the water ahead of me to be dunked. It was all I could do to keep from finding a back door and quietly slipping through it. In a word, gone.

As the ceremony began, I kept my cool, but inside, I was in knots. I believed God would stop the baptism if it was not meant for me. The stormy day could have continued into a stormy night, and the ceremony could have been canceled on account of lightning. The road to the church could have been closed because of flooding. Many things could have happened, but they didn't. I was there as planned. Who was I to interrupt the flow? Am I smarter than God?

At last, it was my turn to get dunked. I stepped my humble self up the ramp. Having spent more time and put more thought into baptism than anything I have done in my life, I proceeded. The warmth of the water surprised me, and I remembered germs thrive in warm, moist conditions. Panic threatened to set in at the thought. I focused on what I needed to do next and felt a calmness in my heart that spread through my arms and legs.

With a clear mind, I answered with a confident ‘yes’ when the pastor asked if I’d let Jesus into my heart. It was an easy ‘yes’ when asked, would I live according to Jesus’ teachings to the best of my abilities for the rest of my days. I proclaimed my faith and gave my life to my Savior, Jesus Christ. In front of God and the church community and by the power vested in the pastor, I am baptized. That was it.

Other than a hug from another pastor, the one who had welcomed me at the very first service I attended, there was no fanfare as I left the ceremony area. I went into the now-empty room where I had left my tote bag, put on my dry clothes and drove home. Did I feel disappointed? For a moment, yes, the whole affair seemed like much ado about nothing.

Shivering when I got home, I stepped into the shower to rinse away any slag remaining on my skin from the communal dunking. The stream of hot water warmed my chilled body. Relaxed and letting myself take a break from it all, I went to bed, and I fell asleep.

After a good night’s sleep, I awoke and sat on the side of the bed. I said a brief prayer before setting my feet on the floor, as I do every morning. Then I remembered. I am baptized. I couldn’t keep from smiling.

During our morning walk, my husband was inquisitive. “Do you feel any different?”

“It’s hard to explain,” I started. “It’s like nothing is different, but everything has changed.”

Allowing myself to belong doesn’t come naturally to me. Personality-wise, I’m a loner. If I get involved, it’s in a behind-the-scenes capacity. I will not be changing that, but for the first time, I know who I am, and I understand I need to belong. When considering the lone coyote who met his demise without the security of his pack, I don’t want that to be me. I have a strong desire to surrender, but I’m also terrified of doing so. Wanting to belong had left me vulnerable to rejection in the past. I avoided being hurt by hiding my desire to belong.

I don’t feel that way anymore. This church has allowed me to embrace my own way of fitting in. And nobody can turn me away. Being in the family of God is… well, God’s gift to everyone. Anyone who believes. I no longer fear wanting to be included, and I am not afraid I will end up like the lone coyote.

I am ready to continue doing what God has planned for me. Like the pack of coyotes who live as God intended, I have found a place where I am supported and where I can support others. For the glory of God, people and coyotes are a beautiful example of using pack mentality for good.

Frolic and fun in the desert.