He showed up, or traces thereof, after the weekend snow, following his route down the drive and across the lawn area by the beach and then again yesterday, during the amazing sunset and when spotted ran like the dickens to avoid photo capture.
Weeks of flipflop weather are confusing to everyone and the older you get the more impatient you become with the cold part of it. As kids, we loved snow more than we sought the heat of summer. Not so much anymore. We have flipfloped in our aging process. We wonder also what this does to our pets and those animals caught up in the midst of our suburban sprawl. 
Wiley Coyote can't have a very good life as it is and then to get hit by a January spring probably sets his little mental clock ticking like mad. He takes the same path probably daily in search of our cat or anyone's cat, a squirrel or just a dropped leftover from dinner. He knows that if he takes that trail, more than likely he will return to his abode with something to eat. When he disappears for a few days at a time, we reason that he has altered course because the pickings were easier or the route less precarious in some other direction. All this struck us this morning at 5am as we walked our usual route to the railroad station in our little town, a bit of a sprinkling of snow on the ground - a dusting so to speak - some wind and a lot of slush, where we patiently waited for the train to take us up the tracks a hundred miles to the city where we found our bagel and coffee cart waiting, walked the blocks to our appointment passing the opening and shutting of building doors and the rush of warm air from them, over steaming grates on the side walk and the occasional plunge into ankle deep curb-water, all in search of a paycheck and a meal.
We may as well have been coyotes.
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