Coyote and the Lake: PromptPost No. 4

"A sleek gray-faced prairie wolf! his pointed black nose tucked in between is four feet drawn snugly together; his hand-some bushy tail wound over his nose and feet; a coyote fast asleep in the shadow of a bunch of grass!--this is what Iktomi spied."

So begins "Iktomi and the Coyote," one of several "Old Indian Legends" compiled by Sioux tribeswoman and historian, Zitkala-Sa. I first began reading her stories in grade school, and to this day, her tales live on in my mind as the zenith of regional folk legends whenever I think of Plains stories. Iktomi, the "spider fairy" is a trickster, one of many who live on in oral traditions. In this particular story, he has met his match, Coyote, who is also known throughout the Native American legends as the trickster who can out-trick anybody. The site that I've linked to Iktomi's name lists Coyote right after him, and I find it interesting that there are two different manifestations of craftiness and manipulation embodied in these individuals-- man vs. nature is a clear interpretation, but I wonder what others might exist. What has been lost in the oral traditions we no long know, or could never know, as a literate society fond of linear thinking and structured sentences?

I think about these things as I research Coyote, who is known to biologists under the Latin name of Canis latrans Say-- canis for dog, latrans for barking, and Say for Thomas Say, who, as a 19th century Plains explorer first described the "prairie wolf" in 1823. I think about Coyote's reputation, his craftiness and cunning. These are the things that keep him alive in the wild, that make him him, but these qualities are the same ones that have earned him a spot alongside prairie dogs and bean blight in the hearts of ranchers and farmers. Coyote is sent to the earth by the Creator to teach man how to live, say some old legends, yet his intellect is tainted by his nature of sneaking chickens out of the coop. He is an animal of multiple personalities and personas; this gives storytellers great range in using him as a character to explain and entertain.

Coyotes are omnivorous, eating everything from berries and grasses and bugs to cottontails and family animals. These sleek animals have been documented in much of North America, so it doesn't surprise me that each Native nation has its own version of a Coyote story. We too, the descendants of settlers who took over the Plains (pushing around both native man and animal) have our own coyote stories, our own ways of dealing with the animal.

Living 40 minutes away from Nebraska's Museum of the Fur Trade, established here because of the plenitude of pelts in the 19th century, I know all about the ways in which people around here try to get rid of coyotes. We've had some around lately, and dad's been toting his gun in the evenings, hoping to put an end to the howling animals before they have a snack of mom's lil' doggy.


In the story of Iktomi and the Coyote, Iktomi carries Coyote home, thinking he will cook him up. Coyote is not really dead, but enjoys being carried across the prairie by the man (in this story Iktomi is a man, not the spider/snareweaver). Coyote has manipulated Iktomi into doing the work of walking for him, but when he arrives as his teepee, Iktomi lights a large fire and chucks Coyote into it. Upon being burnt, Coyote flees, splashing ashes and flame on the warrior; his parting laughter is a reminder to Iktomi that animal is more wily than man.


don't know if it was reading about Coyote's antics as a child, watching the Road Runner kick his hide over and over with my dad, or seeing the living animal pop up on occasion around here, but the levels of Coyote Nature interest me. His metaphor is one of being both obnoxious and wild, yet smart and resilient. He is the clever man, the fool; the savage animal and the hero. I want to think there is some of him in all of us, if only we could see him and embrace that.

During my initial visit to Walgren Lake a coyote ran across the path in front of me, and since then I've been wanting to use Coyote in a story. I don't like making things up, so it's really hard for me to imagine making up a whole world for Coyote and peopling it, but here goes.

Coyote and Iktomi at The Lake


It was winter time in the North, where Coyote lived alone in his warm home. For many long days he had been wrapped up like a blanket, wet black nose tucked into layers of wiry, buckskin fur. His stomach spoke to him sometimes, and when it did so, he ventured from his small room and foraged among the lake reeds for buffalo berry stems and the nourishment of bitter, bitter rose hips and water. His stomach did not quiet at the taste of these small, shriveled husks, but the water dimmed the pangs of animal hunger like sun star did when it lay down in the sky at night.

Coyote was growing thin, like the Two-Legged he sometimes saw dangling strings of sinew through the thick skin that Winter had grown over the water. He knew it was sinew, made from the cords of muscle and hide that Elk clothed himself in, because he could smell it anytime the Two-Legged drew near. It smelled so good, so alive. Something that Coyote hadn’t felt since the Autumn and his fat harvests of rodents, pheasant and sick deer. Coyote was known among the Animals for his pounce, his hard jaw. He could stalk animals in silence, swooping like Raven. He wore his stealth in dusky, sand-colored fur, and the strength of his mouth also rivaled Raven’s, who was known for his unending chatter CawCawCaw. But because Coyote’s mouth was not used for constant noise, but to quietly secure his dinner, his strength was more valuable, his action more beautiful.

Spring was coming—Coyote could feel the excitement of knowing another and chasing young pups in the sun—but before the Sun Breeze returned, he needed to find a meal, something warm and living. This would restore his weight; he would be bigger than Dog and glossier than Ferret once again. Coyote knew how he would do this: he would call on the Two-Legged and ask for help from him. The Fur that One wore was not his fur naturally—Coyote saw Rabbit and Beaver and Deer every time he saw this One, but because the Two-Legged did not move with the swiftness nor possess the knowledge of these Animals, Coyote knew the Two-Legged must put these covers on. Could he offer his hide, in return for a meal?

Iktomi watched the ducks fly overhead as he walked quiet across the lake. His eyes sparkled like the gemstones some Nations traded, but he knew better than to think of such folly. He was at the lake for dinner, not riches. And dinner he would have. His best tobacco had been burnt that morning—the great Water Snake would send his spirit to the surface and attach Crappie and Perch to the wishbone snare at the end of Iktomi’s sinew. He knew it would happen as he had envisioned, and as he squatted over yesterday’s opening in the water’s cold skin, he imagined how good the fish would be when steamed over young ash wood. Water wetted his lips now, and Iktomi barely noticed the way the Moon Breeze ruffled the delicate hairs of his winter furs. He had patched last season’s leggings and shoulder cloth with what was available, but he knew that lining them with Coyote would turn away the cold.
“HunHa!”

A small laugh, bitter like winter berries, escaped from Iktomi’s set mouth. Coyote. He would be lucky to catch such a one, in winter or summer Coyote was cunning; he would have to be desperate to turn himself in for a ransom of shelter or marrow bones.

Iktomi kept his sinew in the water all afternoon and evening, and before Grandmother showed her face in the west, he had lined up three rows of Crappie and one Walleye. The Finned ones said nothing; they knew the ways of the winter world above water.

As Grandmother’s face revealed itself above the horizon, Coyote stepped out of his home, arching the ruff of his collar and giving his jaw a good stretch with a yawn. His front arms slid forward as he kissed the ground, thanking Earth once again for his presence. First his right leg, then his left stretched out behind him as he warmed the muscles he used for pouncing. Coyote was proud of his abilities as an Animal, but it was his mind that he needed to stretch and exercise on this cold winter night. As he searched the horizon for movement—a feather, a tail, something—a shimmer of frost on the road caught his eye.

“Oh Grandmother,” he said, rounding his mouth as he spoke to the Moon, “your night jewels are beautiful, and I enjoy seeing the way they sparkle around you.”
Grandmother said nothing, because she didn’t need to.

Coyote started down the path across the water skin—he would see if the Two-Legged had left any fish behind from this morning. As he came closer to the spot where moccasins crouched in silence, he realized that the Two-Legged had not returned to his fire. Here was Coyote’s chance to ask for a meal, or sneak one, if necessary.

“Oh, brother Deer,” he said, hoping to trick the Two-Legged into thinking he was family. Coyote’s eyes were lowered, and his tail was pulled under tightly—if the Two Legged saw his submission, maybe he would share something with Coyote.
“I am cold and hungry on this Moon Night. You have much food and only one stomach. Your coat looks thin, but you are still alive. Will you share with me?”

Iktomi couldn’t believe his eyes. Was Coyote this close to him, this desperate in his hunger?
“Brother Coyote, It is I, Iktomi, not Deer, as you have imagined. My coat is thin, yes, you are right. I have much Fish here with me, and truly, one stomach. But if you give me your coat, I will trade you warmth for hunger.”

Coyote thought for a moment, his deception pulled out from under him. He could trade his coat for Iktomi’s fish, and return home to sleep off the rest of the Winter Moon with full belly. He would get a new coat in the summer, so this one didn’t matter. But Coyote was not sure he could trust Iktomi to give him the Fish before trading him the coat. He knew there had to be another way, and as he thought on it, Grandmother winked her eye at Coyote. And he knew how to get Iktomi.

“Here, then, follow me, Brother, down this path out of the shadows of the night.” Coyote led Iktomi off the Lake, toward the path where he first encountered Grandmother that night.
“You see, there is a sparkling rock magic on this road ahead, and I do not know what it is, but it gives off a great light. There I will remove my coat in the light.

Iktomi could not believe his luck. Not only would he get Coyote’s warm dressings tonight, but the Animal had no idea that the sparkling rock magic was only the light cast from stones glistening under the sky above.

As Coyote neared the path, the frost on the road sparkled like springtime in a mate’s eyes. If Iktomi saw this glow, Coyote was certain that the Two-Legged would become entranced with the magic, forgetting both the Fish and Coyote’s promise. Soon, Iktomi glanced the sparkling ahead of them, and he ran ahead, forgetting the delicious comfort of a meal in the greed of his desire for hard, magic rocks. He removed a small pouch and shoveled handfuls of Winter ground into the opening, smiling at the meals and the coats this richness would bring him.

Coyote snuck back toward the Lake, shrugging his coat around his ears and thanking Grandmother again for her guidance.