This morning as I took the dogs out, I heard Old Crow. He was sitting atop the big Black Locust tree in the west pasture by the barn, cawing like mad. I knew he was upset about something, but couldn't see what it was. Sometimes it's just me, or me and the dogs. But today his voice was particularly strident, and sure enough, out from behind the barn sauntered Coyote.
I reached back in the house and grabbed my husband's rifle. Loaded, cocked, shot, missed. No surprise, it's not my gun, and I'm not used to the sighting system. Coyote ran off down to the east pasture, where he sat on his haunches and looked at me, bold as brass. Far too far for me to hit, but I tossed another shot at him anyway, just to run him off. Into the woods he went.
Looked down and two dogs were by my side, the third missing. I hollered, I called, I yelled. No Jethro. So I brought the other two inside (who all but knocked me over to get in), and then went to the front door. There he was! Jethro doesn't think much of shooting.
I then went upstairs so I could look out A's bathroom window, which shows the west pasture much more clearly. And the horses told me where Coyote was, slinking through the woods to the southwest of them. I didn't see him again, but watched the horses until they began to eat once more.
The animals will tell you, if you listen. That's all you have to do.