As I looked over the farm fields, patchy with melting snow, and took in the sky, tinted pink in the sunrise, I saw the coyote hunting in the corn field to my left. To my right, I saw the border collie, hunting in the alfalfa field.
The coyote's gray-brown coat blended in with the patchy ground and decaying corn stalks. The Border collie's black and white coat allowed me to easily track her movements.
Both dog and coyote hunted with their noses to the ground. They zigged and zagged and paid me no mind as they searched for field mice scurrying beneath the snow. Occasionally, they'd pause and pounce.
The coyote had to hunt for her breakfast. With a full tummy after her morning kibble, the Border collie hunted because some instinct, some drive, told her to hunt.
When I called, "Hey, Coyote," the coyote, never looking up, continued her hunt.
When I called, "Caeli, that'll do," the Border collie looked up and loped toward me.