Once, my best friend, V, spotted coyotes during recess.

It must have been in third grade—that was the year when the most magical things happened. V’s excitement was palpable as she warned us not to go to the upper field, lest we meet our untimely demise.

Most of us were skeptical, myself included. I didn’t know much about coyotes—I was never an animal kid—but with all my 8-year-old wisdom, I was willing to bet they didn’t live in Provo, Utah. Even in the foothills, all we had were deer, rattlesna...