I drew a manta ray, but it left me for somewhere else, leaping off the bridge and into the river. Its back glared at me in the sunlight as it fell. I must have made a wrong stroke somehow, as it hated me, even as it seemed grateful to exist.  A coyote tears at something near the flagstones at the riverbank. It wraps its teeth around the object of desire, ripping at it with jaw and claws until, after much effort, the pipe breaks, and the dog is drenched in detritus-filled water. He probably should have just let it go.