My father hung two dead coyotes from a Palo Verde tree behind our house. He had my brother and I catch rattlesnakes in our spare time, which he kept in wood and glass cages he built. The coyotes smelled worse than an egg fart in a compact car. The snake my father called Billy Jack escaped while we were at school. My mother found him coiled in front of the master bedroom door. I put him back in his cage when I returned. My mother told my father about it when he came home. He checked the condition of the cage and said it was sound and it probably wouldn’t happen again. A couple weeks later it got too hot in the house and the snakes died. My brother skinned them and sold their skins for five dollars a piece to a friend of my dad's who owned a leather shop. My mother asked my father what he was planning to do with the coyotes. He told her he was waiting for their coats to fall off. My mother said I think it’s time to get rid of them. The next morning my brother and I buried them in the softest dirt we could find. My father told us to dig the holes deep so the dogs don’t smell them.
wow.
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