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Years and years chasing the Road Runner. More than he had ever devoted to anything else. Sleepless nights spent meticulously devising the perfect plan (even if it failed), fortunes spent on technology (even if it failed), hours preparing the desert area he needed for his next trap (even if it failed). No failure had ever deterred Wile E. Coyote from his goal. No failure would. Because Wile was, above all else, a genius. And geniuses (even those who came after him on his list: 5. Einstein, 6. Newton, 7. Galileo, 8. Da Vinci) didn’t let a few failures stop them. They persisted, replanned, reinvented themselves, studied…
Study.
Wile was looking at the diagram of the latest trap that had failed when that word popped into his mind. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t studied. He had, and a lot. He’d studied physics, chemistry, mechanics, construction; even art, so he could paint the rocks to look like road signs! He also knew about first aid (for himself, of course), bombs, engines, hunting, weapons, shooting, and signage. He was, without a doubt, the smartest creature living in that desert!
But, curiously, there was something (or someone) he had never studied. And it was essential to his plans, the philosopher’s stone that would turn his years of failure into a golden success.
The roadrunner itself.
He already knew about his prey, and perhaps that was precisely why he hadn’t investigated it further. He knew it was a bird, covered in delicious blue feathers that fluttered as it ran at the breakneck speed for which it was known. Like a bird, it loved the birdseed that Wile offered it daily to lure it into his traps. He also knew that its communication was based on the sound “Beep, beep” or “Meep, meep,” depending on who was hearing it. Wile could attest, from experience, that the roadrunner (his own, at least—that is, his specific prey) loved to stick its tongue out, in an expression that might be called adorable if it didn’t belong to a demonic creature. That was just a figure of speech, of course. After all, there had been very few occasions when the roadrunner had done anything to Wile that was intended to harm him. In reality, it just smiled with that stupid face, said its stupid “Beep, beep” (or “Meep, meep”), and ran, ran, ran. This knowledge, which Wile had gathered over so many years spent dealing with the roadrunner, seemed to have been enough.
But didn’t geniuses never say, “That’s enough”? Didn’t they continue researching their whole lives, even after making some landmark discovery? Wile had fallen behind without realizing it. He had continued to study extensively, but never specifically about his prey. Maybe it was time, since he felt slightly stuck. Some extra information about the roadrunner might be the key to catching it. Luckily, Wile loved to read and learn, so that wouldn’t be a problem.
The problem had been getting information on the roadrunner. For some reason, there was almost no material available about the bird. Wile hypothesized that this must be due to the difficulty of studying a creature that was constantly moving at high speed. A never-ending cycle: little information because it was hard to catch, hard to catch because of the lack of information. That meant a new goal for Wile: now he wouldn’t just catch and eat the roadrunner, but he’d also write a book with all the information he’d gathered to help his fellow coyotes. Wile wasn’t just a genius—he was a noble soul.
He finally managed to get his hands on at least one brochure about roadrunners. It was brief, with information whose source might have been questionable, but Wile was willing to give it a try. Now he was completely focused on studying the bird, on learning about those aspects he still didn’t know. It was all so he could catch it, of course. Not out of curiosity or a desire to learn more about the enigmatic blue bird with the huge smile.
He settled in with the newly acquired pamphlet in hand, ready to pay close attention to every word he found there. Right away, after the information he already knew, he found a new fact:
“Although some people attract roadrunners to help with pest control, it can be dangerous because roadrunners are aggressive toward small mammals such as dogs, cats, and rabbits.”
Wile burst out laughing, his laughter echoing throughout the cave. Roadrunners, dangerous! What a joke! He tried to imagine a roadrunner being aggressive toward a cat, and for a moment he thought he’d die from lack of air from laughing so hard. It was so funny! Completely false. Whoever had written this brochure was a real idiot. He knew absolutely nothing about real roadrunners. It must have been written by someone imagining what they’d be like, because no one who knew the roadrunner that Wile hunted would think he could do something like that. Wile tossed the brochure aside—it had been a waste of time trying to read it. It was obvious it wouldn’t help him at all.
A couple of hours passed before Wile E. Coyote had to reconsider that laugh.
The desert remained as sandy and hot as ever. Deep down, Wile liked it that way. He appreciated the stability of the habitat he had chosen. His life already held too many surprises and adventures without also having to worry about the elements. He was walking, once again surveying his surroundings, when he noticed something strange. A presence. Normally, only he and the roadrunner stood out among the small animals that also roamed the desert. But now it was clearly a different kind of creature. The shadow it cast on the sand was the clue: a rather long shadow, especially at the end of the silhouette, which split in two. A rabbit. Wile felt his mind fire off at a thousand volts per second. A rabbit! What a treat! And so much easier to catch than a roadrunner. Rabbits might be able to jump and have claws, but they were no match for the majesty of the fastest animal in the area. If Wile had come close to catching the roadrunner (and he’d come very close, many times, of course!), catching a rabbit would be child’s play.
Wile crept closer, chuckling to himself at the simplicity of the task—a piece of cake for a genius like him. Still, he wouldn’t say no to a tasty treat in such an inhospitable area. He managed to turn over the sand dune covering the animal, allowing him to see only its shadow, and found that he was right. A rabbit, right there in the desert. Curious; though Wile reserved his curiosity solely for the roadrunner.
The roadrunner. It was as if Wile had summoned him with his mind. Because the desert dust swirled up in that characteristic way that only feet as swift as a solar probe could achieve. The coyote was more than used to it, so it didn’t bother him at all, but the rabbit couldn’t help but cough at the sudden dryness.
“Beep, beep” echoed throughout the desert, and Wile had heard that sound so many times that he could perfectly distinguish which tone was being used. In this case, for example, it was clear that it was a warning “beep, beep”. A warning about what? The Roadrunner sometimes used it when Wile was about to fall off a cliff, or when one of his inventions had turned against him and was about to knock him down. But Wile wasn’t in a dangerous situation right now; he was just watching intently as the rabbit was being surrounded by the Roadrunner, who showed not the slightest hint of playfulness in his movements or on his face…
What the hell?
Wile could barely process that the roadrunner he’d been chasing for so long was now circling the rabbit at an overwhelming speed. Clouds of sand swirled like dangerous whirlwinds—something the coyote had never seen before. Now the sand was really starting to blur his vision, and all he could do was try to shield his eyes with his arm. Meanwhile, every so often another “beep, beep” echoed with that peculiar tone—now sounding even more like a warning—along with what might have been a squeak from the rabbit. It didn’t last long, as was always the case with the roadrunner. The sand gradually settled back to the ground, and only a trail lingered a little longer. Wile didn’t need to uncover his eyes to realize that the roadrunner had left. However, he was surprised when the sand revealed nothing but more sand. The rabbit…was gone, too.
Wile gazed out at the desert for a few more minutes before running back to the cave to retrieve the forgotten brochure.
Although it must have been a coincidence. Maybe the roadrunner was in a bad mood that day. Wile had never seen him in a bad mood, now that he thought about it. His roadrunner was always smiling brightly, with his tongue even sticking out—a sight far too cute for someone who had just attacked a rabbit. Anyway, the roadrunner wasn’t cute, the coyote quickly corrected himself. He must have misinterpreted the scene, and the roadrunner must have taken the rabbit for a walk with him. If that fool was always out walking around, so carefree, as if the desert were his playground.
But he’d already picked up the pamphlet from the ground, and it wouldn’t hurt to take another look at it. He was slightly intrigued, and nothing in there would derail his plans to catch the roadrunner. So he grabbed it and read on:
“Roadrunners are extremely territorial; they always guard their territory, and they drive away rivals with loud noises, pecks, and pecking.”
More nonsense, this time so ridiculous that Wile didn’t even feel like laughing as he had before; instead, he snorted loudly, the sound echoing throughout his den. Was someone getting paid to write these lies? He even felt like suing them! How could they claim that roadrunners guarded their territory when the bird had never once tried to chase Wile away? The coyote even thought that, at this point, it was very likely that even with its tiny brain, the blue bird knew where his den was, and had never gone near it. If he had, it would have been very easy for him to attack the coyote or destroy his tools. But clearly, the roadrunner wasn’t interested. So, it was obvious that he wasn’t territorial. He shared the desert with Wile, his predator.
Wile stormed out of his den. It was already getting dark, and normally he wouldn’t go out, but he needed some fresh air after reading that string of nonsense. The roadrunner guarding its territory—how hilarious. As if all that bird did was smile sweetly, stick out its funny little tongue, and run as if it were the most entertaining activity in the world. Wile could say many things about the roadrunner, but none of them had anything to do with rudeness or brutality. What else did that stupid pamphlet say? Oh, right, something about loud noises. Yes, it was true that sometimes the “beep, beep” sounds were too high-pitched and bothered Wile’s sensitive ears a little, especially if he’d just set off one of his bombs or sticks of dynamite. Still, they weren’t loud sounds—they were musical sounds, with a harmony that reflected whatever the Roadrunner wanted to say, which made them endearing. Yes, he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but at night Wile missed the Roadrunner’s signature “beep, beep”. The few times he had consciously thought about it, he convinced himself that it was because that sound indicated his prey was nearby, and what he longed for was a chance to finally catch it. That was all.
Better not to think about it, better to focus on the pamphlet instead. Taps and pecks. Had the roadrunner ever pecked or tapped him? The coyote was almost certain it had never happened, unless it was a side effect of the roadrunner pecking at its food (possibly provided by Wile himself as part of his trap) very close to the coyote. Never as a direct attack. And yet Wile had indeed attacked him, on numerous occasions. He was trying to hunt him all the time! But the roadrunner responded with its cute little chirp, its hyperactive little hops, and its speedy dash. Sometimes they’d interacted more, depending on what Wile’s trap required; however, the roadrunner would help by pressing buttons or pulling levers or whatever needed to be done without getting violent. Yes, Wile got hurt all the time, but it was due to bad luck or—though he didn’t want to admit it—some mistake. Never because of an attack by the roadrunner. That pamphlet was nonsense. He, more than anyone, deserved the roadrunner’s fury, since he tried to hunt him down every day. If the roadrunner had never attacked him, it wouldn’t attack anyone.
A pitiful howl broke the usual silence of the desert at night. The coyote’s instincts kicked in immediately, and it didn’t take long for his body to lead him safely toward the source of that unusual sound. Huddled close to the ground to avoid being seen, Wile crept toward the spot from which pitiful sounds continued to emerge—so pitiful that for a moment the coyote felt sorry for the creature making them. What could be happening in this normally quiet desert, aside from his attempts to catch the Roadrunner?
Wile held his breath at the sight that answered his question.
There, beneath the stars that had so often accompanied him on his nocturnal escapades, stood the Roadrunner himself. The cheerful, curious creature who always had his silly little tongue sticking out and was smiling even when Wile was trying to catch him. The naive creature that fell into the coyote’s traps, even when it ultimately emerged victorious—often more due to Wile’s bad luck than to the roadrunner’s own cunning.
But now it seemed anything but naive, curious, or cheerful. Its beak, always bearing that distinctive smile, was furiously attacking the other animal. Wile couldn’t see clearly—was it another coyote? Or some other creature? It didn’t matter much to him either. His eyes were fixed on the roadrunner; one of ihis long legs was wrapped around the other animal, squeezing it with painful force, the other firmly planted on the ground, intensifying the prison he had become, the crest on ihis head completely distorted and sharp, his feathers ruffled, his beak delivering precise pecks and uttering anything but sweet sounds.
The roadrunner was attacking.
The prey, the victim, the hunted, the threatened, the one fleeing. No. The roadrunner was no longer any of those things. As if someone had flipped a switch, he had become the exact opposite. A predator defending his territory with violent energy, ready to destroy anyone who dared to intrude on his kingdom.
Wile automatically recalled what he’d read in that silly brochure about roadrunners. Maybe it wasn’t so silly after all. After all, it perfectly described the scene before him: a roadrunner defending his territory with blows, pecks, and loud sounds. For the first time since they’d known each other (and that was a very long time!), he felt something akin to fear. The roadrunner had never hurt him, and Wile had always believed that was due to his naivety (sometimes bordering on stupidity) and a certain weakness that it made up for with his speed. Now, Wile realized he’d been very, very wrong. The pained growls of the creature the roadrunner had hunted (Hunted! The roadrunner! It was so hilarious!) proved to him that he was lucky to be safe and sound.
He didn’t want to see any more, nor did he want to be caught by that swift and obviously strong creature, so he slowly and silently made his way back to his cave. As he walked through the desert, and even after he had reached home, he couldn’t help but ask himself countless questions about what he had discovered that night. One question loomed above all the others.
Why had the roadrunner never harmed him?
He needed a night’s rest before seeking some answers. He only had that pamphlet to shed a little light on his doubts, so he picked it up and looked to see what came next after the section on roadrunners’ territorial nature. Unfortunately, what followed had nothing to do with why a roadrunner wouldn’t attack a coyote trying to hunt him. Instead, it read:
“Roadrunners are monogamous; courtship begins with foot chases during which the male gives food to his mate”.
Why should Wile care about his nemesis’s romantic relationships? He sighed wearily, though he read it again out of sheer curiosity. Monogamous, okay. It almost made sense—after all, there weren’t that many roadrunners to keep switching partners. Courtship involved chases on foot. And yes, if the roadrunners only ran. The male gives food to his mate. Pretty typical, many species had to prove their ability to provide for their mate.
But Wile wasn’t interested in any of this. Not at all, not even what he’d read before. It had all been utter nonsense. Nothing written there had helped him catch the roadrunner. He’d go back to the classics, his plans and his traps. He didn’t need to know any more about his prey. Besides, every piece of information he found was more unsettling than the last.
Wile finished setting up the trap he’d use that day. He’d been so focused on placing it just right that he’d forgotten everything about the brochure and the information he’d read. He approached the spot where the roadrunner needed to be for the trap to work, and placed a generous amount of food there so the creature would stop long enough for Wile to set the trap. He walked away anxiously and waited a few moments until a cloud of dust appeared, signaling that the roadrunner was nearby.
The roadrunner ate the food, Wile set off the trap, and the bird’s feet were encased in two concrete blocks (or at least that’s what the ACME box said). While Wile laughed with excitement, the roadrunner looked at his feet curiously. It was then that, for a moment, the coyote remembered that very same roadrunner savagely attacking another animal. Wile swallowed hard, hesitating for a moment to approach a creature that could clearly hurt him with his beak or wings if he felt threatened. However, if he really wanted to catch him, he had to get closer.
He crept forward, though it was pointless. Years and years had taught the roadrunner that the coyote was the one who set those traps. Wile took a breath, gathering his strength without stopping. Yet when he stood face-to-face with the roadrunner, he had its typical expression: the playful smile, the little tongue peeking out affectionately, the feathers on his head slightly ruffled by speed but not bristling, his eyes bright and expectant. As if he was waiting to see what Wile would do next. No fear, no aggression.
Wile was so surprised by the roadrunner’s serene and cheerful expression, in contrast to the violent creature he had seen, that he froze for a moment. Long enough for the roadrunner to move his feet so fast that the cement blocks shattered, freeing him. The roadrunner cried out “Beep, beep” cheerfully, not the threatening, angry sound from the night before. Before Wile could catch him, the bird had already taken off running. That snapped the coyote out of his reverie, and he decided to try to keep up with him on foot. As always, he wasn’t fast enough, and as soon as he stopped to catch his breath, the roadrunner vanished over the horizon, shouting “Beep, beep” once more, almost as if it were a greeting.
Defeated but not defeated, Wile returned to the trap site to gather everything up. It was while he was putting away the leftover food that it dawned on him. Food. Provisions. To their mate. A chase on foot. Courtship. Courtship. Courtship.
It. Couldn’t. Be. Possible.
Wile stood there dumbfounded, the leftover food still in his hand, which was trembling involuntarily. Standing there, the image of the smiling, willing roadrunner came back to him, seeming neither vulnerable nor threatened. The adorable, cheerful, playful, mischievous roadrunner and perhaps not as naive as Wile had always believed. The roadrunner who could evidently be bloodthirsty and violent but had never been so toward his predator. If, that is, he considered him his predator…
He shook his head, overwhelmed. This was all a huge misunderstanding based on information from a dubious source. It was true that the pamphlet had been right about everything else, but it must be wrong on this point. Would it say anything else? He still had one passage left to read—that must be where the whole explanation for this mess lay! Wile rushed back to his cave, forgetting about his food and the remains of the trap, because he needed to know if his conclusion was correct. After all, he was a genius! He didn’t usually make mistakes! He quickly arrived home, and the unsettling pamphlet was waiting there, mocking him. Wile slowed his pace when he saw the silly piece of paper that had caused him so much confusion. It was supposed to help him understand his prey… Could this be yet another failure? But Wile was, above all else, a genius. And geniuses didn’t let a few failures stop them. No failure had ever stopped Wile E. Coyote from achieving his goal. No failure ever would.
He grabbed the pamphlet and read the final piece of information listed there:
“The way a roadrunner accepts a courtship is by making a characteristic sound and hopping around”.
His heart sank. He rubbed his eyes harder than necessary before reading it again:
“The way a roadrunner accepts a courtship is by making a characteristic sound and hopping around”.
His treacherous mind was immediately filled with images of the roadrunner with his little hops, the kind where even his legs vibrated, as if he was excited. The creature didn’t speak, but after so many years, Wile knew how to tell when he was genuinely excited. And that distinctive sound… those precise, excited “Beep, beep”s.
Did that mean… the roadrunner had accepted his courtship?
What courtship?
It was all so silly, and Wile was a genius, he shouldn’t be wasting his time on nonsense. He shouldn’t be feeling his world shake because of a stupid pamphlet about stupid roadrunners and their stupid habits and their stupid courtships. He didn’t want to keep looking at that piece of paper, so he looked away and let his gaze wander around his cave. There were blueprints and diagrams taped to one of the walls, right above most of the tools and materials he’d used lately to catch the roadrunner. And then he realized it was too much.
Years and years chasing the roadrunner. More than he’d ever devoted to anything else. Sleepless nights devising the perfect plan down to the last detail (even if it failed), fortunes spent on technology (even if it failed), hours preparing the stretch of desert he’d need for his next trap (even if it failed). No failure had ever deterred Wile E. Coyote from his purpose.
And what, really, was his purpose?
All that time, he had believed that his mission was to hunt the Roadrunner. To finally eat him and savor every part of him. To fulfill his role as a coyote. To triumph as a genius. Was that important enough to devote so much time, energy, money, and life to it? That; an entire life devoted exclusively to a single creature.
“Roadrunners are monogamous”.
His mind seemed determined to shatter his sanity. Or perhaps it was his genius trying to unravel the enigma. Why devote a lifetime to hunting a prey? Then Wile remembered the other question that had been swirling in his head for the past few hours:
Why had the roadrunner never harmed him?
It was quite clear now. If Wile had been able to answer that question, then he should be able to answer the one regarding his own behavior. He had obtained that pamphlet to study the roadrunner, so he could better understand him in order to catch him. And, for better or worse, it had worked, because now he truly understood the fastest creature in the desert. Moreover, perhaps… now he understood himself better.
Wile stepped out of the cave.
When he reached the spot where the remains of his last trap lay, he wasn’t surprised to find the birdseed untouched. He chuckled to himself, because now it all seemed so clear to him. Of course the roadrunner wasn’t going to eat that loose food, it was waiting for it to be offered by… the creature that was courting him. And whose courtship he had accepted. It was all too new for Wile, and yet, at the same time, incredibly old.
He picked up the food and walked a few meters away from the failed trap. He placed the food on the path with unusual gentleness. He hardly had to wait at all—as if it had been waiting for him—until the roadrunner appeared in front of him. Smiling, sweet, cheerful, adorable. A sight that, he now understood, only the coyote could truly appreciate. The roadrunner looked at him for a moment, and Wile wondered if he knew everything that had been going on inside him over the past few hours. The yellow beak opened, and the familiar “Beep, beep” came out, in a slightly higher-pitched version than usual. His feet left the path and hung in the air as the roadrunner hopped lightly, never taking his eyes off Wile. The coyote realized then that all those other times he’d missed out on this eager, excited roadrunner because he’d been too busy wondering if his trap would work. How long had it been since the roadrunner had accepted his “courtship”? Wile didn’t know, and at that moment, it didn’t matter anyway. Because now he truly understood.
[“Mates?”] -he held up a sign, feeling his cheeks flush.
It happened in an instant. The high-pitched “Beep, beep” turned into a continuous “Beep” and the jumps were no longer small, and in a flash Wile had the roadrunner on top of him. As he hugged his new? Old? mate, the coyote savored the taste of triumph that comes with true genius. No failure had stopped him, and he had finally succeeded. He had caught the roadrunner.
After all, part of being a genius was persevering, studying, and reinventing oneself. Wile had done all those things.