Life without Sachi for that nine months meant Coyote and I spent a lot of “quality time” together. At the dinner table, about 18 months ago, when Coyote was still eating food on a regular basis:

Me: <tossing a coupla bison tidbits onto the deck> “Hey, you want this?”

Coyote: <sniffs, takes in her mouth, spits back out, sniffs> “Did you have these in your mouth?”

Me: “Yeah, but only briefly. Kinda sinewy.”

Coyote: “So, what makes you think *I’m* going to want that?”

Me: “You’re a dog.”

Coyote: “What?”

Me: “You’re a dog. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Coyote: “I’m not disputing the fact that I’m a dog. What I’m taking issue with is the insinuation that I would eat your mouthed-up table scraps because I’m a dog. It’s speciesist.”

Me: “Oh good lord! Speciesist? What the heck have you been reading while I’m at work? I’m putting the parental controls back on the computer.”

Coyote: “Puh-LEEZE! As if I don’t know your password…”

Me: “Hey! Are you sniffing through my things again? I told you that’s private!”

Coyote: “Whatever. In any case, I’m not your canine garbage disposal.”

Me: “Fine. I’ll just –”

<SLURP!!!!>

Me: “Dammit! That was almost my hand! I thought you didn’t want the scraps.”

Coyote: “I didn’t say I didn’t want them. I said I resented the assumption that, because I’m a dog, I would want them.”

——

It’s a good thing Bodhi came along when he did. I think we were beginning to get on each other’s nerves.