In a little clearing lay the perfectly articulated skeleton of a coyote, probably winter-killed. The skull with its gleaming teeth had been picked white and clean, but a bit of hide and sand-colored fur still clung to the delicate bones of one paw.
A yearling coyote had tried to leap a rusty fence, caught its hind leg and now hung upside down, dead. In an attempt to free itself it had indeed gnawed off its foot—but in the wrong place, the far rather than the near side of the entrapping wire.
The leg bones protruded from the poor, chewed stump. In what would soon be a clean skull, its teeth were very white.