Coyotes here in Montana are well-conditioned. While driving, if you should see one sitting and stop the car, they will bolt at top speed, even if you’re a mile away. They’ve grown wary of this sequence:
1. Screech of gravel
2. Pain in the ribs
3. Distant, fading sound of gunfire.
Sorry, progs (did you know the autocorrect on progs will give you prigs? Lovely thing, that.) This is Montana.
#2 and #3 sound like lyrics from a Marty Robbins song. Guess which one?