Kickass. the doorstop dog, like the keeper and most of his ilk, is moved to a sad silence as the country dissolves into chaos. It is not a time for smartass remarks or finger pointing accusations. There is unfathomable misery in the evolving destructive behavior of thousands, and there is an irresistible temptation to apply here-to-fore denied personal bias for explanation.
In grasping for something—anything, to relate to the national calamity, the keeper recalls the circumstance of a long-ago spring when friendly and beloved farm dogs formed night-time packs that attacked and killed neighborhood sheep. Under cover of night, the dogs reverted to undisciplined savagery, behaving in an instinctive narcissistic manner. In the morning the dogs were back on their respective front porches, assuming their peaceful and obedient roles; while coyotes were temporarily blamed for the dead lambs.
There is obviously a lot of room to be outraged and even incensed in the keeper applying his fumbling dog reminiscence to the current human chaos, but he, and everyone else, can only really look deep within themselves and then keep their mouths shut.
It is not the coyotes, it is us.