FAWN Killer Facts and FICTION
I’ll never forget the first time I looked into the eyes of a death dog.
It was a tooth-cracking cold morning in Arkansas when I crawled into a small tower blind overlooking a vast wheat field. The landowner gave me specific orders to shoot as many does as possible to help with his management program.
“By the way,” he said as he walked me to my stand. “If you see a coyote, kill it, too. They’re wreaking havoc on our deer herd.”
“Ten-four,” I nodded.
The morning was barely an hour old when I caught movement in a distant fencerow.
Coyote!
The alpha male was a prime specimen, and he seemed oblivious to my presence. He was out of shooting range, so I dug into my fanny pack and retrieved my adjustable deer call. I moved the call’s O-ring to “fawn” and let out a soft bleat. The coyote stopped in its tracks, did an about-face, and approached my stand.
Within moments, I had the canine in my scope. His eyes said it all: He was mean and on a mission.
The crack of my .30-06 ended that operation and put a prime pelt in the landowner’s fur shed.
THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER
Bagging a coyote during a deer hunt
