I’m trying to find some affection within myself for coyotes. After all, they are canines. But I admit, it’s a tough sell. I can appreciate them, but I’m terrified of them. I’m that person who turns the channel when any helpless creature is about to be mauled in the Serengeti or devoured by a Great White.

I live on 5 acres, partially wooded. On any given day, I’ll see possums, snakes, birds of all kinds, deer, rabbits, turtles, you get the picture. And once in a while, especially lately, coyotes. It used to be that I would only hear them at night, that scary yipping and screaming they do off in the distance. And whenever that happens, I immediately think of a baby deer being ripped to shreds, chunks being tossed into the air with glee. I’ve read that these cries and howls don’t necessarily indicate a bloody celebration and that it’s typically far fewer coyotes than it sounds like. But it’s still chilling.

When we first moved here 14 years ago, the property next door was used for hay production, and you could see across the open field. Sometimes I’d see what appeared to be a big German Shepherd cutting through, walking slowly, and I assumed someone’s dog was loose. It took a while for me to realize that it wasn’t someone’s dog. The part that still confuses me is that these coyotes aren’t small. The information on coyotes describes them as 2 feet high and 4 feet long, which I assume includes their long tail. But it also says their weight is between 20 and 45 pounds, and I’m pretty sure what I’m seeing is much larger than that. A wolf-coyote hybrid? A coywolf?

On a Sunday morning in the spring of 2015, with Bloody Marys in hand, we noticed some strange large birds perched in one of our oak trees. It turned out they were Muscovy ducks, who knew ducks perched in trees? Anyway, we fed them, and they stayed. And multiplied. A lot. After a few years of trying to take care of countless clutches of these ducks, we now have ONE. The only reason we still have even this one is because he’s handicapped, so we built him a house where he’s safe. The rest eventually became, you guessed it, coyote food.

Recently, we saw Tim Tim, the feral cat that comes to eat here twice a day, race past the window. Then we saw the big coyote in hot pursuit. We ran outside, making noise to scare him off. He stood for a few seconds, looking up with an amused smile on his face, before he dashed off. Tim Tim had climbed a tree, clever boy, and the coyote seemed outwitted. But I’ll never forget his expression, just the same as a dog fully engaged in a fun activity. The disconnect for me is the combining obvious danger of a coyote and wanting these animals I care for to be safe with the joyful dog I witnessed at that moment. Days later, at 2:30 in the afternoon, I saw another one just passing through the front yard. He looked like a large adolescent, goofy expression on his face.

Years ago, I saw a big coyote with a white duck. He was tossing it up into the air over and over, just like a dog with a toy. As I ran over, the coyote stood for a second and then picked up the duck, leaping away as gracefully as a doe, completely in control with an effortless escape. A few days later, I noticed some strange poop just outside my front door, studded with white feathers. Clearly, a message to let me know who’s the boss of the great outdoors. And it’s not me.

Erica Preo is CEO & Creative Director of Pantofola, pure luxury Italian goods for dogs.