The other night as I and my brother and three of our dogs were hiking at night in a hilly neighborhood of Monterey Park, California, suddenly there was a distinctive yapping sound from the dark hills high overhead to our left. The yapping rose to howls and all sorts of unmistakable sounds from a pack of coyotes. They were frenzied, as if they were hunting and signaling to each other about where the prey had gone—or had seen us and were excited to have spotted our three dogs to kill and eat.
We had planned on going in that direction to wend our way back to my car, but knowing we’d only be getting closer to the coyotes, we went the other direction as soon as possible. I kept hearing them as they seemed to be getting closer and closer and may have been looking for a way to get to the street from the hills; but soon it all quieted down and I assumed they’d caught an animal and were eating him/her. See this VIDEO or THIS ONE to hear what they sounded like.
Later on, as we drove to measure the hiking distance, as we passed that area the odor of skunk permeated the air. We surmised that the coyotes had killed and eaten a skunk, or more than one skunk. Apparently, when coyotes are hungry enough, the excruciating odor of skunk spray is not enough to deter them.
So we and our dogs had gotten back to the car safely, but having learned a lesson: Don’t traipse around anywhere near “wilderness” areas at night, especially not with dogs. Or at least carry an effective weapon like a walking stick, and a scary noisemaker like an airhorn or starter pistol.
For some odd reason, that incident made me recall something from long ago…
I was about 12 or 13 and had newly discovered that hugging and kissing with boys was very nice. I and my friend Jan were pretty boy crazy ever since the Beatles and Paul McCartney had been all the rage a few years earlier. We were obsessed with Paul and with Davy Jones of the Monkees, and any boy that reminded us of them was an instant object of our obsessive school-girl crushes.
Two such cute boys I’d known of since I was 11, they were D and O and lived near me. But they had well-deserved reputations as bad, sexually active boys who got girls “in trouble,” but at that time we didn’t know much, if anything, about sex and didn’t know boys near our own age could actually be dangerous. Maybe to some “slutty” girl they could be dangerous, but not to us, or so we thought.
They’d heard from somewhere that Jan and I liked them, so they started coming around and talking to us. We were very flattered, since they were “so cute” and they were known to only like the cutest girls.
But as we later found out, there was nothing friendly about their attention toward us…
They’d come around and O would smooch with Jan and D with me, and we thought it was just great and that kissing was as far as anyone our age ever went. But then the feeling up and their trying to get under our clothes would start and we’d have to exit the situation somehow and hope they weren’t mad at us.
On another occasion, my little ego was extremely stoked when some other popular boy told a group of others in my presence that I was D’s “friend” and that seemed to impress them, a lot. Little did I know.
D and his friends now make me think of coyotes, on the hunt for prey; the way coyotes lure hapless pet dogs into their clutches by being frisky—“hey come play with us, it’s all good!”—having sized them up and figured out the best way to get that easy meal. D and O were preying on Jan and me like a pair of coyotes, and we’d thought we had cute, popular, sports hero boyfriends. They even had an entourage, a pack of sorts, who showed up one night as we met D and O in a secluded area of the golf course nearby. This was where it got really frightening and could have ended horribly.
Jan and I had her two younger brothers tag along that evening, thinking things couldn’t get out of hand with them there. We planned to just enjoy some more kissing with our two hearts’ desires, but something strange was going on; suddenly about six or more other boys showed up and were lurking nearby, silently, watching. D was kissing and trying to grope me but I kept fending him off. I don’t know what Jan and O were doing, was too caught up with my situation. It seemed D was putting on a show for his nearby pack. I wondered how on Earth we were going to escape this situation. Jan’s one brother had taken off, who knew where?
About six months earlier there had been a gang rape of a girl in an alleyway near D and O’s junior high school, in the daytime. I and some other of my friends had passed nearby and seen something very odd and frightening going on; a pack of boys surrounding and blocking the view of something obviously terrible that was happening. Later we heard that a girl had been gang raped by that pack of boys and that D and O were the ringleaders. I at 12 had no idea what “gang rape” was but knew it was something horrible. Jan and I refused to believe it was D and O; thought it had to be something else that had happened or that it was other boys. D and O were popular and great athletes; they couldn’t be lowlife rapists, could they?
Back to That Night
D was apparently wanting to get his show going and was getting angry at me for continually pushing his hands away. There was a sense in the air that things were going to get really bad and ugly, quickly. I started to walk away to get Jan and head home but D pulled me back, saying nothing. His black, soulless eyes scared the hell out of me. Then, something I’ll always thank my lucky stars for and be eternally grateful for…
Jan’s brother who’d left the scene had gone home and told his dad that we were in big trouble. Suddenly, like a gift from the angels, there came Jan’s dad’s old white Dodge Dart to an abrupt halt on the road nearby, with a honk of the horn. Jan and I broke away from our captors and sprinted to the car and hopped in, in no time flat. We breathed huge sighs of relief and apologized to her dad for being so stupid as to meet those two in a place like that. We’d really dodged a serious bullet there, having been moments away from a gang rape by eight or more boys.
After that, D never spoke to me or Jan again and was openly hostile, and Jan and I never spoke to O again either. We’d finally seen what they were and learned a huge lesson. I always wondered who that poor girl in the alley was, and how many others they’d done the same to. I thank all that is good for having escaped that awful situation due to Jan’s brother and her good old dad and his little rickety car. I don’t remember if I told either of my separated parents what had happened or if Jan’s parents told them… I would have preferred to spare them from that.
D had always been trouble…
He’d first cockily ambled his way into my sixth grade class in 1968, as a new student at the school, carrying the Jimi Hendrix album “Are You Experienced” under his arm. He was an instant smash with the girls, instantly the most popular boy in the school; a bad boy, edgy and enigmatic. He was Mexican, from a financially successful family and extremely good looking, although he was short, never got taller than about 5’5”. And he never smiled, only smirked or sneered; he was quiet, never raised his voice (one way he differed from real coyotes). But when he talked, everybody listened.
Several of the girls in that class were crazy about him and he quickly gave a number of them some serious “experience.” One had to be mysteriously absent from school for a few months. I later figured out she’d had a baby and had given it up for adoption. These were 11-year-olds here! Dennis had quickly hooked up with O in that class and the two of them went on to cause all sorts of such wreckage in people’s lives. Due to their antics, our sixth grade was known as the “grab room.” I always suspected that young D had to have been molested by women for him to have turned out so perverted, mean, and obsessed with girls and sex, especially at age 12.
I heard on the news much later on that O was killed (at age 21) in a car accident on the freeway. As far as I know, D is still alive and kicking and never got in much (if any) trouble for his crimes in life. He had to have been a narcissist and sociopath, a predator. A human coyote. But at least coyotes are only doing what they do so they don’t starve to death. With D, it was purely personal, and evil. I doubt that he ever changed and was sorry for the things he did; although, for everyone’s sake, I hope he did. “He” means all of such people. No one should ever experience their awful deeds.
[Article images, except for coyote hills neighborhood, are from pixabay.com.]