Last night I did something I have not done in ages: I ran over an unknown animal.

Thunk, thunk, thud.

I drove on.

The soon-to-be-dead beast had been hiding in the bushes beside the road, and sped into my right front tire. It was almost as if the beast wanted death, yearned for it.

I did not drive back to see what I had killed. I collected no trophy.

But this got me thinking. I have been seeing a lot more of coyotes, recently.

When I was young, I never saw coyotes. I just heard them. They were plentiful, their screaming yelps in the night raised hackles, as their cackles reminded me of jackels. (Sorry about that.) But I never saw one, growing up.

Now I see them in daylight, every week. They seem to have grown more familiar, more comfortable with humankind. Some just walk away, not in any hurry.

A far cry from their former scurrying habits, when the most one could see was a darting eye in the night, a whisk of tale at twilight.

The reason for this change in behavior may be breeding. The canid species can mate with each other, and I have recently heard tales of male domestic dogs chasing coyote tail. And, subsequently, neighbors seeing flashes of black on coyote pelts where black had not been seen before.

The coyote and domestic dog populations may be merging.

There is some question of whether man domesticated the wolf, to breed as dogs, or certain alert wolfs domesticated man. Is it a good thing to witness the coyote become more familiar with humanity, but not tamed at the same time?

Or should we now begin to capture and breed the coyote for a new type of dog?

Note: I am pretty sure what died under my wheel, last night, was not a coyote. I heard no yelp, no squeal. And it did not sound “dog big.” More possum-sized.

But, of things that go bump in the night, coyotes are a distinct possibility.