A terrible squawking. “The chickens!” said Aunt Sally. They ran outside. Three chickens fussed on the roof of the coop. The others were in the branches of a nearby tree. Tooter saw something move at the top of the hill. A flash of hind legs and tail disappeared into the woods. “Harvey!” she called. “Arf!” Harvey replied. Tooter turned. Harvey was right behind her. So if Harvey was here, then what was up there? Aunt Sally was staring at several brown feathers on the ground. She looked toward the hill. “Coyote,” she said. “Coyote?” said Tooter. “You mean like Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner?” Aunt Sally picked up a feather. “Yep. Only this coyote is real. And he ain’t funny.” “I thought coyotes were out west,” said Tooter. “They’re showing up in these parts,” said Aunt Sally. “Jack Hafer’s father said he saw one the other day.” Tooter stared at the feather in her aunt’s hand. Suddenly she realized what had happened. “The coyote took a chicken!”
