It’s cold here in the Northeast. Today the dog and I went down to the river.
Looking south along the Hudson River Greenway.
We were surprised to see the river flowing freely with just a few large ice chunks floating by the shore.
Looking north toward the George Washington Bridge.
You can see ice over by the Jersey shore, but virtually none on our side. Yesterday, the river had an ice crust stretching out to the middle of the mighty waters.
(The images below are drawn from the past three weeks of wintry walks and window watching.)
Nothing stops the dogs or their walkers, not even the deep freeze machine.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Dogs gotta walk, and birds gotta eat.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
They also have to stay warm. Look at these mourning doves, puffed up like little Michelin men.
And this flock of starlings trying to catch some eastern roof rays on a morning when the temperature hovered in the teens.
The feral cats in Morningside Park are fed hearty meals year-round by well-meaning humans. Feeding cats also feeds rats, which contributes to a burgeoning rat population, which leads humans to set out poison for the rats that eat the cat food which leads to the death of the hawks that eat the rats that eat the trash that humans set out to feed the cats that live in the park. (Read that five times fast.)
It’s a regular “This is the house that Jack built” scenario, except that the cats (indirectly) feed the rats instead of just eating them, as in the old nursery rhyme.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Here are a couple of our apex predators, viewed from my window, that do their best to keep our rat and pigeon population under control.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
I haven’t seen a Riverside Park raccoon for some time. They must be laying low inside their snowy den.
There may even be babies snuggled up in there, or, if it’s still too early in the season, a pregnant female, waiting for spring. Come spring, I’ll hope to see the whole family out and about on the retaining wall and in the park.
Who’s that walkin’ around here?
Sounds like baby patter.
Baby elephant patter, that’s what I calls it.
– Fats Waller, Your Feet’s Too Big
Ah, it’s a White-throated Sparrow, digging through the leaves for tasty morsels hidden below.
Beautifully camouflaged in the ground litter, the sparrow nonetheless called attention to itself by kicking up an absolute ruckus. If you’ve never seen a little bird dig, it’s quite an impressive flurry of activity with wings, feet and beak all in motion at once.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
White-throated Sparrows have two color morphs, the striking white-striped bird above, and a subtler tan-striped variation.
Here’s what Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s “All About Birds” website has to say about the color morphs:
The two forms are genetically determined, and they persist because individuals almost always mate with a bird of the opposite morph. Males of both color types prefer females with white stripes, but both kinds of females prefer tan-striped males. White-striped birds are more aggressive than tan-striped ones, and white-striped females may be able to outcompete their tan-striped sisters for tan-striped males.
Okay, got that?
Here, take a quick look at The Sordid Lives of the White-Throated Sparrow, Kelly Rypkema’s one-minute video:
After mating with whichever-striped chosen consort, White-throated Sparrows build their nests on or near the ground, which makes the eggs and nestlings easy prey for that most adorable of vicious predators, the Eastern chipmunk.
Eastern chipmunk in Central Park.
Yes, these cute little rodents don’t confine themselves to nuts and seeds. In fact, they are notorious nest-raiders of ground-nesting birds, helping themselves to a quick blast of protein in the form of eggs and babies. Interestingly, a 2011 study indicates that some species of ground-nesting birds, notably oven-birds and veeries, pay attention to chipmunk calls and avoid nesting in chipmunk-rich areas.
I don’t know if the White-throated Sparrow eavesdrops on chipmunks. But watching them dig up the leaves, I’d think they could put up quite a defense with those wings and feet. And speaking of feet (hey, sometimes a good segue is elusive, okay?), here is Fats Waller singing “Your Feet’s Too Big.”
A rustle in the leaves reveals a fat-cheeked, lovely chipmunk on a hillside near Central Park’s North Woods. Check out the large nut stowed on the side.
The Eastern chipmunk lives in many of the city’s larger forested parks, but until recently, Central Park was a chipmunk-free zone.
According to the Central Park Conservancy, the return of chipmunks can be traced to a decision in 2009 to remove trash cans from the Park’s woodland areas. The trash had served as a prime food source for the Park’s many rats. When the trash cans were removed, the trash diminished, and the rats left the Park in search of easier pickings. (Sadly, NYC’s system of leaving mountains of trash bags out on the sidewalk overnight means that pretty much any city street on trash night provides a self-service rat buffet.) Apparently, the rat exodus has created favorable conditions for chipmunks to move in and thrive. Whether the rats out-competed the chipmunks for food, preyed on them, or just generated general forest anxiety among smaller creatures, I don’t know. Anyone?
On Sunday, I was thrilled with my first sighting of a Central Park chipmunk. Now that the little rodents have awakened from hibernation with the warming spring temperatures, I hope to see them more often.
Eastern chipmunk gives me the hairy eyeball.
This little fellow ducked repeatedly in and out of its hiding place beneath the rock. Eventually, though, it rushed off, giving me a good look at its gorgeous back stripes and ruddy rear end before it disappeared into the leaves.
Eastern chipmunk, Central Park, NYC. Photo: Melissa Cooper
Two nights ago, around nine o’clock, I leaned over the retaining wall at Riverside Park to look for raccoons, and found a raccoon looking right back at me. It was perched, as it were, on the broad stone ledge outside its den. We stared at each other, each apparently curious what the other might do. Neither one of us did much of anything.
Just looking.
This raccoon and its family members have an ideal den spot with a broad ledge outside that makes it easy for them to loll and relax at the mouth of the hole.
I’m looking at you.
When a man and two off-leash dogs came into view on the path below, the raccoon turned its attention away from me to watch the newcomers.
The man was talking on his cell phone and kicking a ball for his rambunctious long-legged black mutt to chase, while a slow, imperturbable pug brought up the rear. Neither man nor dogs noticed the raccoon high above their heads, watching their every move. Nor did they notice this human, even higher above their heads, also watching every move.
As it watched, the raccoon curled partway into its hole.
We left it there, the dog and I, and continued our walk along the Riverside Drive promenade. On our way back, I again leaned over the wall.
But the raccoon was gone.
It had probably ducked back into its den. In my admittedly limited and unscientific observations, the Riverside raccoons are slow to actually leave the den for their evening forays into the park. They tend to hang out on the ledge for quite some time, singly or in twos, threes or even fours. They look around and sniff the air, occasionally ducking back into the den as if suddenly remembering they’d left the stove on. Sometimes, when the weather is pleasant, a raccoon will groom itself or a mother will groom a kit, although I haven’t seen any grooming behaviors yet this season. I can’t even say how many raccoons are living in the den this year. Eventually, though, one or another of the raccoons will leave the ledge and start making its way north along the wall. Only rarely do I see one heading south from the den, probably because the grand stone staircase quickly breaks up the wall, so that the raccoon would have to come down to the ground right at a spot that is well traveled by humans and dogs.
Here is the view from just above the den of Riverside Park, the Hudson River and New Jersey.
Not bad. You might linger at the mouth of your den, too, if you had this view to look at.
I’m not sure what to make of the collection of twigs amassed by the Cathedral Red-tailed hawks atop Saint Peter’s canopy.
I posed the question on Twitter, and love the response I received from Robert of Morningside Hawks: “If they were predictable, they wouldn’t be wild. And sometimes they do weird stuff because they know you’re watching.”
For now, at least, the hawks seem to be focused on refurbishing the old nest on Saint Andrew’s mossy shoulders.
When I arrived at the nest this morning, it appeared empty. But as I crossed Morningside Drive to enter the park, I looked back toward the Cathedral in time to see a hawk swooping in from the north to disappear from view behind the saint’s head. Although I could no longer see the bird, I could see twigs moving as the hawk rearranged nesting materials.
Then the hawk hopped onto the old man’s head and looked out over the park and nearby streets.
What a view.
Somehow, the poor saint looked especially sorrowful this morning, and the hawk, well, hawkish.
After a few minutes, the big bird spread its wings and soared off to the southeast.
Morningside Park is lush and full of animal and human activity these days.
A goose family swims past the little island in Morningside Park.
On Saturday, a small brigade of dedicated kids and volunteers cleaned the park and the pond.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
A turtle bobbed persistently for an elusive bite of apple.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Scores of turtles swam and basked near the pond’s mallard ducks.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
The mallards are molting, which is why it looks at first glance as if there are nothing but females on the pond. Look a little closer, though, and you’ll see that some green is still visible on the heads of the birds in the photos, indicating that they are, in fact, males. The bright yellow of the bills is also a good marker; the bills of females are orange and brown. After breeding season, mallards molt and become temporarily flightless. The males lose their distinctive feathers and go into “eclipse plumage,” which resembles the mottled coloring of the female. I’m not sure whether these boys are on their way in to their molt or on their way out. But in any event, within a few weeks, dull feathers will be replaced yet again with recognizable, jaunty bright colors.
This turtle reminded me of the White Rock Soda girl. What do you think?
Two young men with baseball gloves were captivated by the turtle on the rock. “I haven’t seen a turtle in, like ten years,” said one. When he realized there were turtles everywhere, swimming just beneath the surface of the water, he couldn’t tear himself away from the pond.
Soon a group of ducks swam over, hoping for a hand-out.
An interesting new sign has appeared near the pond, in addition to the “Do Not Feed the Wildlife” notices that are often displayed.
Do not touch or remove wildlife from park.
Really, my fellow citizens, what have you been up to while I’ve been away?
A large flock of pigeons lay about on the grass across the path.
Nap time for pigeons. These are just a few of a very large flock, almost all recumbent.
Nearby the turtle-watchers played catch.
As we headed up the grand stone staircase, I spotted a feral cat mostly hidden in dense vegetation. Interestingly, the dog had no idea the cat was present until I stopped to take its picture.
“In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps (or sits) tonight.”
On the grassy slope just below Morningside Drive, a girl sat in quiet meditation.
Just another summer Saturday in one of my favorite New York parks.
Last night at dusk, the great retaining wall of Riverside Park was crawling with raccoons.
A mother raccoon (right) and her babies on the retaining wall in NYC’s Riverside Park.
This is the same den I’ve been watching for years now. In 2009 or 2010, before the raccoon rabies epidemic hit, I once saw six raccoons emerge from this den, like clowns from a clown car. Last night, seven racoons climbed the wall. Seven! Back in early April, I watched a mother raccoon carry a baby along the wall, clearly looking to move it into a new den. My guess would be that this is the same mother with her litter now old enough to be exploring the world under her supervision.
A small crowd had gathered to watch and photograph the raccoons.
“Excuse me, what kind of animals are those?”
Usually, the raccoons on the wall go unnoticed. But the sheer number of animals moving on the wall attracted attention. As they made their way along the stones, they popped in and out of various hidey-holes. Personality differences among the raccoons seemed evident. One, in particular, seemed reluctant to leave the safety of the den, peeping out and retreating several times even as the others had already moved out along the wall.
Some observers reported that in addition to the mother and babies, there was a “medium-sized” raccoon. They wondered if they were looking at a mother and father with a litter. This is highly unlikely, as male racoons don’t stay around after mating to help raise the young. In fact, adult males will often harm young raccoons. It’s more likely that the medium-sized raccoon is a juvenile from last year’s litter that is still living with the mother. I’ve watched a mother care for, and wash, her slightly older babies here in August 2011.
Wall walker.
If this is indeed the case, then there may be five babies, which fits the average raccoon litter size of 2-5 kits.
The little kittenish fellow in the picture below is following after its mother, but still uncertain of its footing on the wall. Apologies for the blurry, grainy photos, but it was quite dark. I’ve enhanced most of these photos to make the images clearer.
Baby raccoon trails mother back to den.
Below, two babies greet their mother as she returns to the den.
Here a raccoon peeps out of a hole a little north of the main den. Could this be the same hole where I heard growling that night in April when the mother ducked inside with the baby in her mouth? Or is this another baby? Or another juvenile? Size is difficult to estimate from a distance, so … hard to say. In any event, this individual stayed put while the others were on the move.
Here is a video of the mother waiting with two babies while a third makes its way along the wall to join them.
For much more on the raccoons of NYC, visit Out Walking the Dog’s Raccoon Archives.
All the rain we’ve had recently means the animals in Morningside Park are living the lush life.
Green, green and greener.
And the sunshine brings out sunbathers.
Turtle pile-up.
Turtles are everywhere, on the rocks and in the water.
Female mallard and turtles.
Today, mallards and turtles are the dominant species in the little pond.
Cooling off.
Now that the excitement of breeding season is over, male mallards are molting into eclipse plumage. Drab feathers replace the brilliant iridescence of breeding plumage.
Molting mallard.
Not every bird is on the same schedule. The head and neck of the duck below glitters and shines, although he is well into his molt.
Still breaking out the bling.
Each year during their molt, ducks lose their flight feathers, rendering them especially vulnerable to ground predators. What ground predators, you may wonder, do ducks have to worry about here in our urban park? Well, feral cats, dogs off the leash and, possibly, raccoons. Morningside Park’s feral cats have been more visible than ever this past winter and spring.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
It’s no coincidence that someone is regularly feeding the cats.
The spot for the feedings is right by the great stone staircase, on the cliff behind the pond. The pond and its surrounding vegetation draw nesting ducks as well as sparrows, cardinals, red-winged blackbirds, robins, night herons, egrets and many other species. The cats are beautiful animals, and I understand the impulse to care for them. I understand trapping, neutering, vaccinating, and releasing them. But feeding them? Given what we now know about the devastation to North American songbirds since cats were established in the New World, do we really want to be feeding them?
We know a lot about the negative impacts of feeding wildlife, and I was happy to see these signs in Morningside Park.
Please Don’t Feed Waterfowl.
The signs address intentional feeding. But inadvertent feeding, in the form of trash and dropped food, is what keeps our rodent population so healthy – and I’m not just talking about squirrels, like the one below.
Squirrels don’t need bakery rolls.
Our urban ecosystem works best without hand-outs. Let them forage for themselves.
Let’s sit and talk and talk. It’s so nice, so warm and cozy here. Listen to the wind. There’s something in Turgenev – “On such a night, happy he who has a roof over his head and a warm corner of his own.” I’m a sea gull… No, that’s not what I mean. I’m sorry. What was I saying? Oh, yes, Turgenev. “And may the Lord help homeless wanderers.”
The Sea Gull by Anton Chekhov
(English Version by Jean-Claude Van Itallie)
Nina’s lines from Act Four of The Sea Gull often spring to my mind in the anticipatory hours before a big storm. Scientists say that most storms have relatively little effect on wildlife at the species level, meaning a bad storm, even if it destroys many individual animals, is unlikely to permanently affect populations of species. But thanks to anthropogenic climate change, we’re now seeing an increase in the number of “severe weather events,” from storms to droughts to seasonal changes that, taken together, are already affecting some species. Still my thoughts in a storm are not about the fate of a species, but about the suffering of individuals, animal and human.
Luckily for our local wildlife, Hurricane Sandy is arriving well past nesting season. Most of our young animals are on their own by now, and many birds have already migrated south. NYC’s resident wildlife will probably do pretty well, over all. The raccoons of Riverside Park should be safe in their retaining wall.
Songbirds will hunker down, lock their toes onto a protected branch, hold their feathers tight against their bodies, point themselves in the direction of the wind, and hold on for dear life as the wind blows past and the rain pelts down.
Feathers can effectively seal out water.
As long as the branch survives, the birds probably will, too. Cavity nesters, like owls and woodpeckers, are even better protected, tucked into natural holes in tree trunks. And squirrels, too, will find a hole in a tree or in the retaining wall, or they’ll burrow into their dreys, thick nests of leaves that they build high in the trees.
If their tree withstands the storm, these creatures will emerge when wind and rain abate to fluff their fur and feathers, and search for food.
Migrating birds are more vulnerable. Exhausted by their travels, their energy reserves depleted, they must find food and shelter wherever they may be. Migrating birds may be blown hundreds of miles off course. Songbirds may be blown out into open sea where they can find no shelter or rest, while pelagic birds may be blown inland.
What may be a disaster for birds – being blown far from their native habitat – offers thrills for birders, who rush out into the aftermath of a storm to search for rare vagrants they might otherwise never encounter.
Tonight in New York City, the wind is starting to gust, although the storm is still hours away. I look out at the strangely quiet streets from my cozy apartment, and hope that all creatures find shelter from tomorrow’s storm.
No animals are visible on today’s late afternoon dog walk in Riverside Park on the eve of Hurricane Irene’s arrival. Well, actually many animals are out, but only two species: humans and canines. No wildlife. Not a single bird or squirrel. Even the cicadas are silent, and the animal world seems to be tucked out of sight, quietly waiting, while over on Broadway, the humans scurry about emptying the local hardware stores of batteries and flashlights.
The animals are still there, of course, curled into nests, dens and dreys just yards away from us walkers. They know how to disappear. They do it all the time. On Friday, a raccoon performed a vanishing act.
First, a bit of wall-walking …
Then, a balancing act …
And, ladies and gentlemen: watch closely. Now you see me …
Now …
… you don’t!
And … hoopla! I’m back!
Here’s hoping all the animals find safe haven and come through the storm safely.
Strolling in Central Park with Esau yesterday morning, I was surprised to encounter dramatic new “Rabies Advisory” signs on lamp posts along the western edge of the park.
The new signs scream “Rabies” in multiple languages (La Rage! Rabbia! Tollwut!) and feature a realistic line drawing of a hulking raccoon that could probably hold its own as a National Football League center.
Last winter, when it had become clear that Manhattan was in the midst of a raccoon rabies epidemic, bright green signs appeared on park lamp posts, urging visitors to “Leave Wildlife Alone.”
Note the cute little cartoon-like drawing of a raccoon head and the small lettering for the words “rabies advisory.”
The new signs are striking, easy to read and, well, kind of scary. But why scare us now? The epidemic appears to be mostly over, thanks to USDA’s humane and labor-intensive program to individually trap, vaccinate and release Manhattan’s healthy raccoons. Over 130 already-infected raccoons have died off since summer 2009, while the remaining, much-decreased, vaccinated population should serve as a barrier that prevents the disease from reaching epidemic proportions.
After a monthly high of 38 reported rabies cases in March 2010, the numbers began to decline. June and July saw three rabies cases each, and August became Manhattan’s first rabies-free month since November 2009.
So I repeat, why the scary new signs? Well, it ain’t over till it’s over and with rabies these days, it may never be completely over. In early September, a single rabid raccoon was found in Central Park in the West 70s, reminding us just how difficult it is to eradicate a disease with a long incubation period. And to maintain effectiveness, we’ll probably need an annual vaccination program to ensure that new babies are trapped and immunized.
But even if we were to succeed in immunizing the entire resident raccoon population, raccoon rabies is now endemic across the eastern seaboard from Florida to Maine. Raccoons and other wild animals, including skunks and coyotes, regularly find their way from the mainland to Manhattan, as juveniles seek new territory. They cross the railroad bridge from the Bronx or swim a narrow channel. If in their travels, they have been in contact with a rabid animal, they will again bring rabies to our island paradise.
So heed the scary signs, and leave wildlife alone. Enjoy the raccoons, but don’t feed them or try to lure them closer so you can get a better photo.
And while we’re at it, it’s probably better not to feed any of our urban wildlife, except maybe small migrating songbirds.
Grazing geese take over the outfield in Morningside Park
Feeding by humans encourages animals to overpopulate, which makes us consider them pests that need to be eradicated, as in this summer’s killing of geese in Prospect Park. Unnaturally dense populations allow disease to flourish and spread. So if you have a soft spot for geese, raccoons, pigeons, squirrels and other urban wildlife, do the animals a favor and stop feeding them.
Red-eared sliders, expecting crumbs, mass beneath the Turtle Pond overlook
If you don’t have a soft spot for animals, count yourself lucky that we don’t yet have a need for these signs in Manhattan:
Sign in Vancouver, Canada proclaims: Warning! Coyotes in the Area
Then again, coyotes love goose eggs, so maybe you goose-haters want to roll out the coyote welcome mat. After all, as the sign says, coyotes are “smart, fast, and will take what they can get.”
Welcome or not, coyotes will be back in Manhattan. If not this winter, then next. They may be here already, slipping through the old growth of Inwood Park and the tangles of Highbridge.
Esau contemplates ducks as a possible food source.
Find out why yesterday’s sighting of a USDA truck is cause for rejoicing.
But first, strange markings appeared last week on the retaining wall and nearby path.
Target close-up
What does it mean?
With my wildlife-obsessed outlook, I speculate that the circled numbers and targets have something to do with the raccoon vaccination program. But what? Do the markings indicate that trapping and vaccinating has begun in Riverside Park? Do they show where raccoons are likely to be found?
The park is cool, bright and windy.
Here and there the pervasive brown of winter yields to color.
Storm-created ponds remain.
Hay bales enisled in spring pond
Sparrows huddle in forsythia bushes, puffed up like little balloons against the wind.
Magnolia buds prepare to pop.
Suddenly, up ahead on a pathway, we see … a USDA truck.
Be still, my heart.
You have to understand. USDA is handling the Trap-Vaccinate-Release program for the city. If anyone can answer my many questions, USDA can. Earth-shattering questions, like: How is the program going? Any estimates on the Central Park raccoon population? How long will it take to know if the program is succeeding? Any new theories on why the disease took such vehement hold this year?
Esau and I run after the truck. But it gets away.
Saddened, we trudge toward home. Then, half a mile north, it suddenly reappears. We run. We wave our arms. The truck stops. The window rolls down. Success! We speak briefly with the driver through the window.
A USDA biologist, he confirms that the Riverside Park phase of the raccoon vaccination program began on Tuesday. The markings on the wall have nothing to do with the raccoons. He seems to need to get back to work and offers his card for a follow-up conversation.
We sing as we head north, happy to have even a little more information.
At 108th Street, we discover the Man Behind the Marks.
He’s keeping park-goers safe by surveying the retaining wall for structural weaknesses in hopes of preventing problems, like the collapse of the retaining wall that closed the West Side Highway for three days in 2005. The marks and targets help him line up his equipment for accurate readings. The targets are always there, he says. He recently freshened up the paint, which is why we suddenly noticed them.
“So how’s it look?” I ask. “The wall.”
“It’s an old wall,” he says. “But it looks pretty good.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Snow-covered retaining wall from just a few weeks ago. Beautiful.
Yesterday I managed to get down just after sunset to the Pond at the southeastern end of Central Park to watch for the coyote. Photographer Bruce Yolton was already on the bridge with his big camera set up. He said the coyote had been out on the ice about ten minutes before, but had left. We waited.
I walked a slow loop around the Hallett Nature Center and the pond, staring into the dusk, hoping to see the coyote on the other side. No luck. I rejoined Bruce on the bridge, and we waited some more in the gathering dark.
Two pitch-black shapes flew past us, low and swift. “Ducks,” Bruce said. They joined their tribe in the water under the bridge.
And then I caught a slim shape moving along the little spit of land that juts out onto the ice. The coyote!
Photo by D. Bruce Yolton/UrbanHawks.com
It disappeared around the far side, so we moved around the path after it. We were able to watch it for quite a while. It came out onto the ice many times, trotting and occasionally breaking into a lope. Its trot is remarkably quick and its movements efficient. Once it made a grand, pouncing leap from the bank back to the ice.
Wary and shy, it slipped back into the sanctuary at the sound of loud voices. It seemed to be trying to find a quiet space through which it could move on out of its Hallett-Pond territory, but was constantly deterred by people walking their dogs, loud ice skating music on the nearby rink and other evening park activity.
How different it must be in the wee hours of the night, when the park is empty of humans and dogs, and the coyote has free run. I’d like to see that.
See more photos and a short video of last night’s coyote sighting at Urban Hawks.
No further word on the three Columbia University animals. They seem to have melted into their city surroundings. They may have made their way to a park. On February 13th, a coyote was spotted at Highbridge Park up at the northern end of Manhattan. Is it one of the three Columbia coyotes or is it yet another visitor? No one knows. But it’s clear we have at least four coyotes on the island.
Gapstow Bridge over the Pond
The Central Park coyote has been seen most often on the frozen Pond at the south end of the park, near the Hallett Nature Sanctuary.
Hallett is a four-acre wooded area that is closed to the public to protect wildlife.
The coyote has also been seen at numerous locations in the park, including the Great Hill and the Pool up at the northern end.
Northern end of Central Park
I imagine that in the quiet of the night and early pre-dawn hours, our coyote can cover the entire park with ease.
Bruce Yolton of Urban Hawks shot new video of the coyote on the frozen Pond earlier this week. There’s something strange and poignant about seeing it play all alone with a discarded plastic bottle as lights from a passing emergency vehicle reflect on the ice. Bruce maintains that the nearby Nature Sanctuary “would be a perfect place for the Coyote to sleep during the day and was the favorite spot of the 2006 Coyote, Hal.”
Visit Urban Hawks to watch the video and see new photos.
Central Park Coyote, Bruce Yolton/urbanhawks.com
Then check back at “Out walking the dog” to read the start of a series on urban coyotes that will eventually include a little history on the Eastern Coyote, speculation on why they’re moving into these mean streets and what the future holds for city dwellers, both human and wild canid.
Meanwhile, remember: LEAVE THE WILDLIFE ALONE! Don’t approach or feed our coyotes or raccoons. Most problems – forget the rabies for a minute – stem from humans providing food for wild animals. Animals then lose their natural fear of us, look on us as a food source and become bold and demanding.
But hey, even Esau gets that way when people give him too many treats.
And, ladies and gentlemen: watch closely. Now you see me …
Out walking the dog 