At the start, one senses faint laughter; but quick, excited crescendo quickly obliterates intrigue—replaces it with alarmed discomfort. (If laughter were rated G, this discordance would be the X-rated horror variant.)
Screams accost nightfall’s quiet expectation.
Screeches and whoops approach. Our quiet retirement obliterated, having never seen the source of these frightening sounds, we move to see what’s happening outside. Of course, we see nothing.
Turns out (seems) to be howls of a woman in domestic argument . . . perhaps in distress. Or, being attacked by something like a gang of demented gangland night-crawlers. (The mind at max potential.) No, it’s a randomly disturbed person upon some lady or couple. How awful. But, no: soon it’s realized . . . dogs. Yes, an entire pack of dogs . . . but how likely is this, that they would sound that way? They’re killing cats now . . . it’s cats screaming. Oh . . . no, this is simply a cacophony of the beloved coyote!
piercing our cover
grave, canid caterwauling
We’ve seen and heard about coyote throughout our lives—country and city living. They’re around, in both cases, but normally quiet and usually alone. They wander for food in a declining environment.
Coyote can sound much worse than they are threatening, although they can present some danger to smaller animals left out at night. Two or three coyote have the ability to sound like a large pack. They use such signalling as protection and warning.