William Campbell For TIME Magazine
The Best Coyote Defense Since the Road Runner
BY RICHARD WOODBURY | BELGRADE
Becky Weed rarely lays eyes on a coyote as she goes about tending her
sheep on Thirteen Mile Farm outside Belgrade, Mont. But at night in her
135-year-old house on the edge of the spread, she can clearly hear the
yips and howls of the scruffy predators echoing across the meadows.
Were it not for an unusual four-legged critter of her own, the coyotes
would have a field day devouring her 240 ewes and lambs.
The protector of Weed's sheep is a six-year-old llama named Cyrus, an
animal best known for its thick, shaggy coat and its agility on narrow
alpine trails. Here on the flatland expanse at the base of the snow-capped Bridger Mountains, the brown and white beast walks guard duty
amid a sea of much smaller brown and white woolly bodies. Deceptively
spry despite his goofy appearance, the llama struts and shuffles among
the flock, craning his head from one side of the field to another while
occasionally stopping to munch on grass clumps in the crusty, frozen
earth. Cyrus' presence is intimidating enough to chase off some of the
coyotes. Or maybe he kicks at the attackers or swings at them with his
long, trunklike neck. Weed is not sure since she has never seen a
confrontation. "All I know is that without him, I would have lost
dozens of sheep."
Guard dogs, burros and even llamas are popular and effective protection
tools for shepherds in the West, but Weed is taking a daring gamble by
relying primarily on a lone creature for defense against what the sheep
industry sees as its greatest danger. When a threat is serious, most
ranchers deal with coyotes and other marauding predators simply by
shooting, poisoning or trapping them — all perfectly legal in most
Western states — or by calling in U.S. Department of Agriculture agents
to do the job. Weed, 40, has adopted a gentler stance because she is
trying to promote ecologically responsible ranching. She has a genuine
concern for the coyotes, mountain lions and bears that roam the Big Sky
Country, and she believes they are as important as other wildlife for
keeping the environment in balance. "Old-timers talk about how great
the Montana country is, but you've got to take care of it," she
said. "Killing just doesn't seem to fit."
A former geologist who began ranching full time in 1993 with her
engineer husband Dave Tyler, Weed is no wild-eyed activist, and the
sorry financial plight of the sheep industry drives them as much as
concern for animals. She envisions a consumer demand for lamb and wool
from sheep herded in a nonviolent setting, much like demand for organic
farm products and tuna caught without endangering dolphins.
Weed admits that her idea has been slow to catch on. She has persuaded
only about 10 ranchers to stay in a program to certify that their wool
is "predator friendly." And without economies of scale and a strong
sales effort, there are few customers for the $130 sweaters and $165
blankets. Still Weed is convinced she just needs more time and better
marketing. "We're all suffering because the public is trained to think
that all ranchers hate the environment," she asserts. "We have to prove
that we're good custodians. There are plenty of buyers who will seek
out ranchers doing things in a responsible manner." If she's right,
what's good for the coyote is good for the shepherd.