It’s perfect! I thought as I scanned the wide-open field. I was in the middle of Montana and had just received permission from a landowner to hunt coyotes on the back side of his expansive property. He had provided me with a detailed layout of his land and indicated where he believed I had the best chance of calling in a coyote. I spotted the small butte he said would give me an elevation advantage and started the hike in — jumping a fence and walking across the open, flat terrain. 

But what the landowner had failed to mention was that this field also had horses grazing in it. Let me make this clear: I don’t like horses. I’m a city guy and the little time I’ve spent around them I’ve managed to get bitten, kicked and thrown enough times to acquire a strong aversion to them. 

I was halfway across the field when I heard thundering hooves. I turned my head to my immediate left and saw six horses racing in my direction. I didn’t know what their intentions were, but I wasn’t planning on sticking around long enough to find out. I quickly looked around for any avenue of escape, but the field was completely void of trees or anything else that I could climb up on. Then I noticed an old hay shed about 50 yards away. 

I turned and started running for my life. When I reached the shed, I ran right up the side and hooked my elbow over the corrugated roof. The horses surrounded me, and we had a staring contest that lasted more than 10 minutes. Eventually, one of the horses lost interest and with a snort turned and sauntered off. The other horses followed suit. 

The next day I told the landowner about the encounter. “Oh, they didn’t mean no harm!” he said. “They just wanted to see if you had a sugar cube.” 

“Well, I left them something, but it wasn’t a sugar cube.” I retorted.