The biological canid "species" of coyote remarkably stays the same. Even after cavorting with wolves and canoodling with dogs, a coyote looks about the same. And watches us. But its behavior, its variation at fitting into any ecosphere that doesn't require equipment, makes it genius in terms of evolution. Its "fittingness," which is the real indicator of evolution, is remarkable because it can figure things out and get there in spite of danger. The persistence is of species, not of individuals. Variation according to what is edible and available. Humans tend to get all puffed up about their individual identity and forget that.
Just as we discover that genes -- rarely sighted except in terms of results -- know how to get through a membrane like skin or cell wall -- coyote cleverness is only sighted in terms of results. But beyond that -- human understanding of what a coyote is leaves the actual facts of the animal in biological or evolutionary terms and escapes through the most permeable membrane of all -- that one that barely holds our minds together. We dream of coyotes. We say they are "God's Dog" because surely God must be like us and keep a pet for the delight of it and surely a coyote is just a dog and all dogs must belong to someone.
Most of us have never seen a coyote or heard them singing ("Song Dogs") even though we're on the proper continent. They shuttle through us on TV -- all the media, each other, books, photos, religions. This "close but far" status makes them idea as instruments of Lakoff/Johnson metaphors.
Two powers we share with coyotes: group belonging with individual fittingness and empathy for what other creatures are doing.
(My arm hurts too much to go on. Back later.)
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