The Coyote

It stared at me, its eyes never leaving mine. I slowly pulled the pistol out of the waistband of my jeans and raised my arm, aiming it. It never flinched. My left hand held my dog’s leash. My dog was what it wanted. That wasn’t going to happen. A standoff had ensued.


Rosemary Carlson

Business Consultant and Freelance Writer
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