On May 17, I saw our first housefly of the season. Definitely a little early given the cool weather.
This single rogue fly seemed to be either lost or some mutant strain, because once flies show up, there tend to be tons of them and they’re a scourge for weeks.
In my heart, I know that every creature is just trying to make a living, including houseflies. Regardless, I squashed it. Still, this had had me pondering: How many phyla down the taxonomic hierarchy do you have to go to have empathy for one’s fellow earthly travelers? It’s certainly easier to feel an affinity to those in our own phylum (Chordata — vertebrates), even if I actually eat some of them.
In recent years there seems to be a greater abundance of fauna in our area at odds with the humans who cohabit it — coyotes and crows especially. Local social media has been rife with debate as to whether creatures that impact us negatively have as much right to live as we do.
Which side of the coyote argument you’re on might largely depend on whether you have a cat. Or used to have a cat. The growing coyote population seems to have decimated a lot of beloved family pets.
Seeing coyotes running around residential neighborhoods in broad daylight mere blocks from the ocean is a new phenomenon.
I don’t have a cat, but I do have a bichon-poodle mix that our vet says a coyote would definitely consider dinner, in spite of all that fur. I can just hear the coyote pups complaining: “Geesh, Mom! Could you please find something short-haired? Maybe a Chihuahua? These fluffy things are a total pain to eat!”
One night a few months ago, as I took our dog out at 11 p.m. before bed, I looked across the street to see a coyote trotting by. They have a very distinctive gait. Now, whenever I have the dog outside at night in the front yard, I’m standing right next to her.
A recent post on local social media suggested the coyote situation could be ameliorated by having all the neighbors chip in to hire a company that alleges it will humanely trap coyotes, transport them out of the area and let them go in a more welcoming habitat.
Um, Kansas?
I have to say I was immediately reminded of a similar conversation some years back when I was dealing with the rats that were in abundance in our backyard. Upscale areas like La Jolla offer lush foliage for high-end rodential habitation, never mind a veritable cornucopia of rats’ preferred cuisine, including and especially oranges (we have a tree), pet food and snails.
So a gentleman from a local pest-control firm responded to my call for rat-control services and installed live-capture traps around my property with promises that he would be back daily to check on them. It was all very humane, he explained.
“So, what do you do with them after you catch them?” I asked, immediately regretting the question.
“Oh,” he said, “we drive them out to the country and let them go.”
He actually said this with a straight face. Unfortunately, he looked like he’d had a ing role in “The Terminator” and that the back of his truck was filled with devices I didn’t want to know about.
So, despite the genuinely charming and well-intentioned social media suggestion, I was dubious about where those coyotes were going to end up. Other people responding to the post were, too.
Which, of course, reignited the argument as to whether the coyotes had as much right to be here as humans. They’re just trying to make a living like everyone else, one side contended. Feed their families. Find affordable housing. Save for college.
OK, maybe not save for college.
The other population I haven’t been altogether happy to see in recent years is the influx of crows. We are very much bird lovers in our house, with lots of bird feeders and even our own outdoor aviary.
Unfortunately, with the advent of the crows, our songbird population has been reduced drastically. The blue jays have disappeared entirely.
Crows are annoyingly loud, never mind that they entertain themselves by smashing objects on our skylights to break them open.
But aren’t they just trying to make it like everything else?
Of course, my wish is that crows could decide to go make a living someplace else, along with coyotes, rats and houseflies (maybe spiders, too). But none of these creatures seems so inclined, so for the time being, we’re guarding our beloved dog against coyote attacks, tolerating the crows and dispensing with the oranges on our tree that attract rats.
But I continue to flatten all winged and arachnoid creatures that get near me. My empathy, alas, just can’t seem to find its way that far down the taxonomic scale. Sorry, arthropods.
Inga’s lighthearted looks at life appear regularly in the La Jolla Light. Reach her at [email protected]. ◆
