As I was a-riding this morning for pleasure (fact: I was taking my weekly riding lesson. Witness, horse hight Gryphon. OK, maybe it wasn't so pleasant for him.) I heard a couple of sirens of the fire/ambulance variety go by on the local road (which you can verify by checking the local emergency service logs). Shortly after the sirens started up, I heard an ungodly racket which sounded very much like a flock of large, constipated geese trying to imitate said sirens (corroboration, my riding instructor). Having considerable curiousity, I enquired as to the source of the racket. A den of coyotes, said my riding instructor. It really was amazing to hear. And, being the warped purveyor of fiction that I am, it inspired me to wonder what was really being said ....
(NOTE: the following is entirely FICTION. Made up. Not real. Even in an election year.)
Hark! 'tis Uncle Snaggle Bigteeth, returned at last from his hunt for the Large Wheeled Thing that did in Aunt Beulah!
Daddy, why does Uncle Snaggle sound funny?
I reckon he spent some time in furrin' parts, son, and picked up some of their ways.
He keeps saying the same thing over and over!
Hey Snag! We're over here! Come and meet the cubs!
What is he saying? Something about an impala? In a tree?
I tole you he'd been to furrin' parts! I hear impala's good eatin'!
Dear, we're coyotes. Everything is good eating to us.
Oh yeah, right. Hey, he's going away! Snag, you plumb fool! We're over HERE!
Uncle Snag! Uncle Snag!
I think he's talking about a ford impala. In a tree. Dunno about them.
Is Uncle Snag coming back, Dad?
He always was a strange one, Snaggle. I reckon he'll be back. Someday. Now finish your cat or it's no dessert for you!