It rained for a couple weeks straight a few winters back, and the dunes were flooded. That is, the vallys between the dunes were ponds. The water table was up to the surface, and it was still drizzling.
I was making a cruise down the beach and there was old coyote, soakin wet, standing there looking forlorn as could be. When he saw me turn my truck in his direction, he started loping north up the beach, next to the dune line.
I followed slowly and as he loped along, he kept lookin over his shoulder at me. Now, there are short posts, eight inches in diameter, along the foot of the dunes spaced about thirty feet apart.
This coyote, all soaking wet, in the drizzling rain, trots along and looking over his shoulder runs right into a post, and collapses in a heap. I stopped, and cracked up laughing while he staggered a second, shook his head, and looked straight at me. I swear he wasgoing to do like the Roadrunner cartoon and just wave a white flag. He really looked like he'd had just about enough of all this ****.
He turned and walked resolutely up into the tall wet dune grass, and disappeared.