How can 1,000 pounds of hay fit in the back of one pick-up truck?

Shreve Stockton has taught me many lessons. Her blog, The Daily Coyote chronicles her life in Wyoming with a rescued coyote, and relies on a steady stream of stunning photographs to do most of the storytelling. In the year that I have been visiting the site, Shreve first taught me the value of escapism, when I started to look forward to the daily pictures of a life far, far away from the gray, depressed scenes of Syracuse. Then, in March, when I (half) jokingly invited myself over, Shreve taught me that the Internoodle is a very small place when she commented on the blog entry, and miraculously, did not seem at all freaked out by my friendliness. This Christmas, Santa brought me her new book. (But somehow my mother wrote inside the jacket...why did Santa let her do that?) My biggest hope for the book was that it would answer many of the details that were left out of the blog, and it did! But it also led me to more questions than ever before. I guess you can never know too much about things like coyotes, hunky neighbors with tragic pasts, and what the author refers to as a "very rudimentary outhouse situation." Those three things? THEY SMELL LIKE A BESTSELLER TO ME.

The initial descriptions of the sprawling Wyoming landscapes had me hooked. Ms. Stockton has a way of writing that will make every reader feel like they're missing out on something huge. While she pours the vivid scenery onto the pages, I suddenly felt acutely aware of all of the places I've never been. The sense of wonder about an entirely unfamiliar place and situation (ie, there is a wild coyote sleeping in your bed) is what will keep you reading through the night.

Given the limited personal information that is divulged on the Daily Coyote Web site, I was surprised to read more intimate details about the author's relationship with Mike, a neighbor/cowboy/hottie whose job, strangely, is to cull the coyote population in order to protect local livestock. Many of Shreve's personal struggles are also chronicled with impressive candor and fluidity. She writes with a seemingly effortless understanding of what swirls around her, whether it's to do with Charlie rebelling and biting her, or knowing when it's best for her, the coyote, and her neighbor boyfriend to move out of the 12 x 12 cabin she loved. The feat is that we know it could never have been effortless. I have trouble writing about the most basic, hum-drum daily activities, nevermind trying to get readers to understand and relate to all that comes along with taking in a wild animal.

Perhaps even more impressive is the full-page photography throughout the book. First of all, I must say, more "grown-up" books should have pictures-- so kudos to Shreve as well as Simon & Schuster for getting it together and harkening back to the days of the children's library. (If only I still worked there, I would demand this as a storytime selection.) The photography serves to further immerse readers in the setting of the book, and help wrap minds around the idea that a baby coyote can fit into the palm of a hand. It may be partly due to the fact that I consumed between two and nine glasses of wine while reading this book, but I found myself constantly flipping between baby Charlie and grown-up Charlie, in disbelief of the simultaneous cuteness, majesty, playfulness, and maturity.

My only real complaint is that after all that, I still have more questions. The book concluded neatly, but there is still a story going on in Wyoming! Maybe one day there will be a sequel. Until then, hop over to the Daily Coyote Web site, because a slew of throwback pictures of tinyfluffballcutenessexplosion baby Charlie are featured.