Coyote, with Mange

Oh, Unreadable One, why have you done this to your dumb creature? Why have you chosen to punish the coyote rummaging for chicken bones in the dung heap, shucked the fur from his tail and fashioned it into a scabby cane? Why have you denuded his face, tufted it, so that when he turns he looks like a slow child unhinging his face in a smile? The coyote shambles, crow-hops, keeps his head low, and without fur, his now visible pizzle is a sad red protuberance, his hind legs the backward image of a bandy-legged grandfather, stripped. Why have you unhoused this wretch from his one aesthetic virtue, taken from him that which kept him from burning in the sun like a man? Why have you pushed him from his world into mine, stopped him there and turned his ear toward my warning shout?