One Helluva Team
We both sat camouflaged below the brow of the rim and listened to the early morning music of the song-dog wailing about his lot in life. I never tired of listening to the many varied notes of this wooly desert marauder. My son looked over at me; we winked knowingly at one another.

I lifted the well worn cow horn howler and let loose with some melodies of my own in answer to the coyote's lonesome howl. After a series of yips, yodels and howls I sat quietly to await the response. [CONTINUE READING]