She trotted along a cornfield, the pungent scent of rodents thick in the air. She perked up, ears twitching as the wind rattled a section of corn husks. She tilted her head sideways, ears detecting a rodent where the moist soil met the forested river corridor. Her ears straightened and she pounced. In a smooth motion her head arched back as she gobbled down a corn rat. She trotted back into the corridor, licking her chops.

At sunset she picked up speed, racing past downed river birch, glistening crayfish mounds, and dew-speckled spiderwebs. She didn’t much care for spiders, yipping when she felt them crawling on her fur.

Something was pushing her north. It wasn’t a mate (she already had one, thank you very much) and it wasn’t to claim new territory. A powerful sensation drove her, although she guessed the humans didn’t care too much about that. They always watched her, men everywhere with spotting scopes or guns. Many of them wanted to shoot her. She never understood why. She’d lost siblings to the metal wasps and traps, tried to help as they chewed off their own paws or dragged themselves into the woodlands with shattered hips. Once, she hauled one of these injured ones to the river and drowned him. She had cried out for two moons. She didn’t know what else to do.

Panting, she curled up under a fallen yellow birch and scratched her ears with her back paw. Then she pattered down to the river, her bushy tail high as she bent down to lap water. She didn’t know the water was polluted. This was all she ever had. It tasted fine and made her feel more alert. She knew dogs had the best endurance, that she could outlast any woodchuck or human. She disappeared through the inky vegetation like a furry torpedo, never to rise.

The sun rose above Baraboo Wisconsin, revealing the farm fields with photographer’s light. Frost and pesticides gleamed across the slick fields like a thin layer of ice.

Eric Gnomes woke to the sound of his chickens squawking. He slid on his Carhartts and took the .22 from the closet.

Goddamn coyotes again, Gnomes thought, jamming the banana clip into the receptacle. He liked the feel of a gun in his hands. It made him feel powerful in a world where he often felt powerless.