It was still dark when my host Dennis and I arrived at the first stand. After he put the truck in park, I slowly opened the passenger door and was immediately hit in the face with the worst smell I had ever encountered. I instinctively gasped and closed the door.
“I forgot to mention that this field just got sprayed with chicken poop,” Dennis said.
I looked at Dennis with a mixture of alarm and suspicion.
“If you can get past the smell, it’s a great spot for coyotes,” he responded.
“I imagine it’s not getting hunted by anyone else,” I stated.
We quietly got out of the truck, and I tried to hold my breath as long as I could. We didn't make it 30 yards before Dennis spotted a lone coyote in the middle of the long field. I sat down and readied my rifle as Dennis fired up his FoxPro. The coyote’s body language told us he heard the call but wasn’t going to come any closer for an inspection.
“It’s about a 300-yard shot,” Dennis told me.
I quickly moved from sitting to lying prone. Now I was lying in the chicken poop. The smell caused my eyes to water, and I started to dry heave.
I was trying to find the coyote in my scope when Dennis chimed in, “He’s getting nervous. He’s looking like he’s ready to leave.”
Through tear-filled eyes, I found the coyote in my scope, adjusted my body and buried the stock in my shoulder. This would be the farthest shot I’d ever attempted, and I knew I needed to calm down. Out of habit, I took a deep breath. Bad idea. I started gagging again.
“Come on, Spike, he’s leaving,” Dennis whispered.
Dennis let out a long howl, and the coyote stopped and looked back at us. Through blurry eyes and convulsions, I pulled the trigger. The coyote fell over dead — right in the chicken poop.
