Calling partners are close; sometimes closer then brothers or married couples. Predatory man, like many other predators, possesses a pack instinct, and when one hunter meets another of like mind they sometimes bond on a peculiar and unique level that only other hunters and their hunting partners understand.

This bond is deepened and strengthened by their common experiences, their triumphs and failures, the moments that only the two of them have shared while hunting, that can never be fully described to others who were not present in that particular instant.

Huddled in the brush in the first dim light of morning, before the sun breaks the horizon and begins to push back the chill of dawn, while the call wails in the foreground, hunting partners are in perfect unison, united in a common quest, their actions and thoughts in almost perfect synchronization as they wait for the first flashing glimpse of fur as a coyote streaks through the brush.

Of course, like any other "couple", there are times when hunting partners loathe the simple sight of one another, when they would rather take a beating then share the cab of a pickup truck on the way to another coyote stand.

Which brings me to the point of this discourse.

The other day I dropped down to Vic's house to gather him up to go and call a coyote or two, and his truck was gone. I had come later then usual, because Vic had been fighting a flu bug for the past few days, and I had thought to let him sleep a few minutes longer.

I waited in the drive for a while, assuming that his wife had taken the truck to work instead of her car, debating with myself whether or not to wake him, and I decided to give him a rest from his labors. Between trying to film a video and being naturally driven (at least during my manic phases) I'd been riding Vic pretty hard, and I figured that he could use a day of rest to recover from his illness and lay around in the Lazyboy.

Congratulating myself on my altruism and empathy and stuff, I pulled out, went and made a couple of dry stands with The Toad, and went home early to fool with the computer.

About 10:00 a.m. or so I picked up the phone and called Vic's house, to make sure that he had not succumbed during the night, and when he answered he was full of hearty good cheer.

I explained to him that I had come for him, but that when I discovered that he was asleep I had gone on by myself in order that he might rest, all the while being careful not to give the impression that I thought he was a lazy slug, laid up in the bed while the coyotes gamboled across the grass, and then the conversation went something like this:

"Did you call?" asked Vic.

"Yep, but no joy."

There followed a lengthy pause, and then Vic said,

"I didn't think that you were coming, so I went out by myself."

"You sneaked out?"

"No, I just didn't think that you were coming, so I thought, since I was up and all..."

"You'd sneak out," I finished for him. "Without your partner."

I was about to go on riding him, and then I realized that he probably had needed more of a break then I had realized, so I backed off and attempted to put a good face on it.

"Do any good?" I asked in a friendly manner.

Another long pause, followed by,

"You're gonna be mad at me..."

In a flash of intuition I knew what had happened. One of the things that we had been discussing all winter was filming a bobcat coming to the call. Because we are coyote callers first, and predator callers second, we accidentally call foxes and bears and javelina and deer and cats from time to time, but because we target coyotes, we usually call coyotes. A cat, we agreed, would be the piece de resistance on film, and now my sneaking, shifty, slew-footed, perfidious partner had gone out and called one, and most likely shot it, while myself and the camera were somewhere else.

As the thought flashed through my mind I was convinced of the utter certainty of it, and I blurted,

"You S.O.B., you went out and somehow accidentally called the only bobcat that we'll see this year, and probably killed the damned thing."

But I was wrong, as you can see below.