J. Crew Fur

Today, I got a J. Crew catalog, one of many I normally receive, since I spend a moderate amount of money on their clothes.

Something was different about this one. Among the advertised products was a collar made of mink fur and a sort of collar-muff-scarf thing of coyote fur.

Minks are raised on farms, and so though I happen to consider that cruel, and the image of the Long-Tailed Weasel I saw in the Sierras this summer comes back to me, it's the coyotes that bother me the most.

Were they caught in traps? I mean, I don't think there's such a thing as a coyote farm, you know? Did they wait, afraid, legs trapped? Did they struggle to get free when they saw the man with the gun approach? I think they did.

A coyote is as smart as your pet dog. A coyote protects and teaches its pups and stays with its mate for life.

In the High Sierras, under South Fork Pass, I heard a coyote howl and relaxed in my sleeping bag, where I had lain tense with fear of the next day's crossing, because something vital and alive was on those heights with me.

At Joshua Tree, under a full moon, the coyotes sang in eerie harmonies that made the night into a magic place. Again at JT, as the sun was falling, one called in a voice so like a human's we initially called back.

At La Jolla Canyon, north of Malibu, I saw a coyote hunting mice in the tall grass: ears forward, eyes intent, pouncing on small sounds. Surviving.

They hang out with me at Wilder Ranch, hunting burned-over areas while I watch and crossing the path in front of me, a little cautious, but not afraid. Should they be afraid of humans? It seems so.

Each scarf-thing is a life, a gray-gold cunning sharptoothed life that knows nothing about markets and fashion and money but knows damn well it wants to live.

Coyote spilled the Milky Way. Coyote gave humans fire.

I'm not inclined to spend any more money with a company that hangs dead animals' pelts around emaciated models' necks. It would be gratifying if other people felt the same.