Banyan pt. 2

Sheila ran to check if Banyan was alright. She was laying on the bottom of the trap so calm and still. It was at that moment, we realized we did not have a domestic dog, but a wild coyote, who was patiently waiting for the care and feeding I had been promising her 18 hours a day, four days straight. We loaded her into the bed of the pickup. Banyan mewed and laid her against the side of the cage nearest to Sheila. We were smitten.

That first night under our protection, Banyan slept fitfully under the eye of the camera. She explored her new enclosure and as we continued to communicate over the miles between us, she gradually grew calmer and more settled. The next day we began her rehabilitation.

We started with treating her for the mange and any intestinal worms we assumed she had. We gave her antibiotics, cooked chicken with rice, fresh water twice a day and kept her pen cleared of her waste. All this time as well, Sheila sat outside her enclosure and talked to Banyan about where she was and the other animals that lived there. Back in Idaho, I also kept up a steady stream of communication, constantly reassuring her that she was safe now and had nothing to fear.

Within a week the hair inside Banyan’s ears began to come back. In two weeks, we saw fur appearing on her back. It was also during her second week that she began to make friends with two of the chickens from the nearby coop and Tater Tot the pig. Since day one, the chickens came and watched Banyan, from a distance at first, then gradually moving closer and closer until they were directly within her grasp if she chose to reach through the wire. She didn’t. Not once. Instead, they exhibited a comradery that rarely occurs between a predator and its natural prey. Each morning the hens came, clucking and fussing and generally entertaining Banyan for hours at a time. Tater Tot began joining them in the early afternoon and often stayed until sundown. Then, when it became dark and the night sky would fill with stars, Banyan would begin to dance.

The first time Sheila saw it, she ran outside to the pen, fearing Banyan was hurt or something was in the cage with her. Instead, she found a young coyote, spinning and jumping and reaching for the sky. The dancing would last thirty minutes or so, then Banyan would turn circles in the straw, lay down gracefully and fall asleep.

We watched her constantly, Sheila in person and me through the lens of the camera and in the mind’s eye of Banyan herself. She found her new surroundings fascinating. The smells and sounds of so many different animals, all rescued and under Sheila’s care. There were barking dogs, bleating goats, horses stomping their hooves, ever-chattering chickens, and the unusual chuffing of two kangaroos. Banyan hadn’t known there were so many other kinds of animals than the ones she knew at the feedlot. It amazed her.

By the fourth week Banyan had gained a noticeable amount of weight and a light coating of fur covered her entire body. She also showed a bit of a tummy, thanks to the meals Sheila consistently made her. Her eyes were no longer sunken in her face and the vague outline of muscle could be seen on her shoulders and hips. We were ecstatic.

However, the one interesting, and rather puzzling, phenomenon we experienced with Banyan was that she never made a sound. Not a bark, or howl, not even a chuff or grunt. In fact, she remained completely silent the entire twelve weeks she was under our care.

There were a few hiccups during the first month. Banyan would have occasional stomach and intestinal upsets and we had to train her not to defecate on the roof of her kennel but all in all, it was a relatively peaceful transition to captivity.