Firestone Hot Springs filled with cancers and poppy tarts

There was one thing that bothered the coyote anytime they ate alone and that was the silence. Sure there was the distant chirping and the hot ass summer wind and the gentle bubble of the water nearby, but that wasn’t enough. They were so used to the sound of their siblings as well as their own. Bickering over who’d get the first bite, talking shit about wolves they’d seen that day, even more bickering. God they fought a lot didn’t they? Terrorizing their little sister and brother was always great dinner entertainment. Now they could only terrorize themselves, which wasn’t nearly as fun but they did it anyways.

This tastes like shit, Buzzard muttered between bites. Yet they ripped off big chunks at a time and proceeded to chew very loudly with their mouth wide open. Food’s too hot and mushy. It’s too damn quiet. Never eating at this shithole again. They gulped down the (possibly rotten) meat. One star.

They hit the nail on the head with most of the description apart from the quiet part. It was quiet until someone came barreling towards them. Then it got real loud real fast.

By the time they looked up to investigate the charging paw steps, someone’s little rug rat nearly knocked them off their feet. Hey, hey, hey, watch where you’re going! Buzzard shook their head before looking the kid over, who was now digging into their lunch.

Oh there’s no way some scrappy wolf pup’s taking my shit right now. They circled around the carcass so the two were face to face. Well sort of. Kid’s face was buried in that food.

Buzzard waved a paw dangerously close to his face. He could bite it if he really wanted to, but how much damage could he really do? Dude’s smaller than them, and that’s saying something.

Hellooooo? Don’t you know anything about finders keepers?