Somewhere in the world a coyote howled and the sound skipped off the atmosphere like a radio signal from three states away. Eventually the sound waves subliminally tickled the auditory receptors stored somewhere in my mostly empty head. How else do you explain a sudden urge to head to the desert just to hear the unmelodic high wail of a pack of canine Mariah Careys? Mrs. O’Neill and I had vacationed several years ago at Lava Beds National Monument south of Klamath Falls and each evening we were treated to a nightly Coyote Gospel Choir concert while lightning flashed in …
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