Living in a rural corner of Utah, amidst densely populated counties, has its eerie moments, especially

when you're in a career that's been more of a nightmare than a dream. Despite my best efforts to

choose safe paths, my journey led me away from finance into the realm of security.

Little did I know, my definition of security would soon be turned on its head.

Leaving the world of numbers behind, I found myself as a predator control officer for the county.

Now, before your mind wanders, it's not the kind of predators you'd expect, not the humankind, but the ones with fur and claws. Coyotes, to be precise, were the primary target due to their overpopulation

wreaking havoc on our rural community. But mountain lions and even bears occasionally crossed

our paths. Applying for the job was easy enough, and the absence of

probing questions about the sudden departure of the previous employee didn't raise many red flags,

especially considering the meager pay. But hey, it was a change of pace, and I found solace in the

great outdoors. Initially, the job was mundane, routine even.

Dispatch calls for coyotes harassing livestock or sneaking into homes were the norm.

That is, until one incident shook me to the core.

It was my tenth outing when things took a turn.

A pack of coyotes terrorizing a local apple farm, preying on goats

and sheep, caught my attention. This farm, nestled at the base of a mountain range, was a serene

oasis in the rural landscape, but beneath its tranquil façade lurked something sinister. Driving

through the snow-laden orchard, I found myself stuck

yet again in the relentless blizzard that had been tormenting us for months. But this day was different.

The snowfall was gentle, almost serene, with no chilling gusts from the nearby canyon. Armed with my

trusty AR-15, camouflaged to match

the snowy terrain, I set out to confront the coyote menace. As I trudged through the powdery

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