Clara Ann Bagnoli ‘28
Copy Editor Intern
Given readers’ personal experiences spotting me on their way to classes, I will waste no time on my introduction.
I am currently on day four of the BEST! PARTY! EVER! I have been racing around the Claremont Colleges, feeling the best but also the worst I have ever felt. About five sunrises ago, my raccoon friend was licking one of my many open wounds, and I suddenly felt a rush. I was frothing at the mouth, and I had an unusual ache in the spot between my ears.
I have observed this phenomenon before in my nighttime stalking of students, but it usually comes after they investigate a certain white powder with their snouts. But what I am enduring feels much more natural. Perhaps I was made for this feeling, and perhaps every coyote has to go through this metamorphosis to enter the second phase of life.
I can attest I have lived a good life. I remember my first few months with my mother and siblings, snuggled up in our den at the basin of Mount Baldy. Every morning, we would awake to the setting sun, and if I was lucky, I would even get a peek at the final slivers of gold, orange, and pink from the sunset. My first three or so years were spent with my pack, my mother, and my many siblings.
As nocturnal animals, we would go out and hunt at the darkest hours, spending the dusk playing with the tumbleweeds and harmonizing our howls to the sound of the babbling streams. Once I grew up, I knew I needed to face the big city of Upland by myself and become a so-called urban coyote; I mean, how hard can gentrification be? Once I reached Foothill Boulevard, I discovered heaven on earth: the Claremont Domino’s Pizza. At 11:56 p.m. on the dot, four or more full trash bags of pizza scraps are discarded into the dumpster where I lay in wait.
Then, there are the colleges. I met them so long ago that Amy Marcus Newhall was still the so-called interim president. It was an exceptionally fruity week when I discovered the Scripps campus. First were the kumquats that came raining down like hail in a thunderstorm–not that I have much experience with ice as a SoCal coyote. Then there were the orange trees I would quietly investigate as I watched two girls stargazing and looking longingly into each other’s eyes.
I discovered the ripe fruits of a pomegranate tree and coaxed out a rush of sweet pink juice from the gem-like seeds with my tongue. I realized I, too, was a lesbian, even as a male canine past my sexual prime. However, the Mudders were quite heterocentric with their hysterical reaction to the stains on my fur.
Humans call this disease I have rabies. I assume it must have come from my friend, as I have not seen her at our watering hole, Seal Court Pond, in days. I wish this drunkenness that I am feeling came from my usual source, the puddles on Green Beach after a water polo pregame, but I have accepted my true fate of nearing death. My muscles feel weak, and I stumble much more than I run. Now, I am venturing out in the daytime, as I must see the rose garden once in the light of day. The fizz post after my appearance was a positive and plentiful surprise. It feels good to be a campus celeb for once.
Recently, the smell of a lingering cigarette stopped me in my tracks as I strolled through Jaqua on my way to the Makerspace. A couple of people in the Toll balconies shouted out to me, but I quickly had to excuse myself to a nearby bush.
I will probably be dead by the time you are reading this. I thank all the students for your politeness during my final days. I noticed the gorgeous mural of a coyote on the Pitzer campus, and even with my own biases about Greg, it was a thoughtful tribute. Though, I hope to be memorialized the same way the possum was, in a bed of roses. My story is not unique. I am not the first rabid coyote to grace these lawns, and I will not be the last. Try to learn from my mistakes and stay away from toxic friends.
XO,
Curtis the Coyote (2018 – 2025)
