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OKEECHOBEE -- The brownish-gray coyote bared its teeth and snarled as Ralph Pfister arrived to open the steel trap that held it by the leg. A young male, it had succumbed to the irresistible bait combination of dead skunk and rival canine poop placed on the side of a dirt road running through the expansive Adams Ranch.
Pfister, 56, the ranch's game manager, snared the animal around the neck with a catch pole to avoid its fangs so he could safely open the trap. Then he led it a short distance into the woods and quickly dispatched it with a .22 rifle.
"No sense makin' it suffer,'' he said, sounding a bit sad.
Releasing the coyote alive back into the woods was not an option. According to Lee Adams, owner of St. Lucie County-based Adams Ranch, which owns thousands of acres in several counties, the wild canines have exacted a huge toll on his family's livestock and on the wild game that roam their lands.
``Before we started trappin' these things, the only fawns you'd find were hiding among the cows,'' Adams said. ``I had a range count of 2,000 deer and I'd say it was 
probably 85 percent.''
Not to mention the decimation of calves, wild turkeys, burrowing owls, barn cats, and a pet Jack Russell on the Adams' property -- all from the teeth and claws of what many consider Florida's wiliest and most successful predator.
``The predation on everything was out of control,'' Pfister said.
Even sea turtles are in harm's way. Charlie Pelizza, manager of the Pelican Island National Wildlife Refuge complex near Sebastian, says he lost 70 turtle nests to coyotes last year.
``It's relatively new -- this problem,'' Pelizza said. ``We're trying to figure how to manage.''
Coyotes pose a huge headache for ranchers, farmers, owners of game preserves, and household pets mainly in Florida's rural areas. Officials of the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission say they don't know exactly how many of the creatures live in Florida, but they say there have been sightings in all 67 counties.
In 1983, coyotes were seen in 18 Florida counties, mostly in the Panhandle. By 1990, they were in at least 48 counties; evidence suggests that population levels in South Florida, especially in less populated areas, are climbing. Even so, there is no organized effort to trap and eradicate the animals, and efforts to do so remain sporadic and low-tech.
EVEN IN POPULOUS AREAS
Jorge Pino, spokesman for the fish and wildlife agency, said coyote sightings in South Florida are not unusual.
``They have been spotted as far south as deep South Dade,'' Pino said. ``In Dade and Broward counties, we don't see them as cause for concern at this point.''
Last month, Lt. Pat Reynolds of the fish and wildlife agency was called to a golf course in Miami Lakes where he made a positive identification of a coyote. According to Pino, Reynolds tried to shoot the animal with a tranquilizer dart but couldn't get off a clear shot, and it got away. He said none have been seen in the area since then. Pino said there have been no reports of attacks on people in southeast Florida; however, a man in Bonita Springs, in Lee County, was injured when he tried unsuccessfully to defend his dog from an attacking coyote in 2008.
``I get maybe one report a month that a dog or cat was threatened or taken,'' said Tiffany Snow, assistant wildlife biologist for the agency's mostly urban southern region. ``If there's been a threat in the area, I will sometimes suggest hiring a private trapper.''
ARRIVAL IN FLORIDA
How coyotes arrived in Florida is the subject of debate. Some insist they are not native -- that they migrated here from the west over the past 50 years, or were brought by hunters who wanted to chase them with dogs.
But a 2007 report by biologists from the agency's Fish and Wildlife Research Institute says coyotes should be considered native, or naturalized species -- not exotics. The report says fossils recovered in Florida show the wild canines date back 2 million years but disappeared from the region near the end of the last Ice Age about 12,000 years ago.
The red wolf dominated the area until the 1920s when it was driven to near extinction by habitat loss and hunting. The wolf's absence and the coyotes' adaptability -- they eat everything from cantaloupes to cats -- allowed them to push eastward into north Florida in the 1960s, gradually expanding southward.
Coyotes may be hunted legally year-round using guns, dogs, traps and snares. Ranchers, like Adams, may obtain free permits to use steel traps or to hunt coyotes at night with guns.
The biggest controversy surrounding the animals at the moment is whether to continue allowing a few hunters in the Panhandle to chase them with dogs in large, multiacre pens. The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission has issued an executive order prohibiting the practice until it can draft rules for consideration at its June meeting.
Meanwhile, coyotes bedevil ranch owners in rural areas, many of whom earn as much income from hunting leases as from cattle sales; the owners take a financial hit when coyotes prey on the wild turkeys, hogs and deer on their land.
House pets have been reported to disappear mysteriously.
A LOCAL GURU
Pfister, the Adams game manager, has become sort of a local guru for people with coyote problems. Over the past year, he estimates he has trapped more than 200 of the animals from Adams holdings in St. Lucie, Okeechobee and Osceola counties. He has conducted group seminars on trapping and occasionally escorts individuals on trapping field trips.
``The coyotes have only been out here about 20 years,'' he said, as he roamed the southern reaches of the ranch in his white pickup. ``The deer just went downhill. You'd have three or four does and no yearlings with 'em. And this was in places where we have no hunting. Last winter, we went to workin' on 'em full blast -- hit 'em right in front of your fawnin' and calvin' seasons.''
Pfister has a permit from the fish and wildlife agency to deploy steel leg traps with rubber pads. The pads, he said, prevent injury to both his quarry and bycatch -- foxes, bobcats, raccoons, and other animals. The traps are anchored and buried in the ground, baited with the scents of animal secretions and decorated with cow bones and other eye-catching objects.
Bumping through pastures and palmetto thickets, Pfister scans the dirt roads and levees for coyote ``sign'' -- meaning tracks or droppings -- and sets his traps. The Adams property is so spread out that the project takes an entire day. The next morning, he's out before dawn to check them.
On a recent cold Sunday morning, Pfister's daily trap check yielded one raccoon, one bobcat, and one coyote. The raccoon and bobcat, once released, dashed off into the forest unharmed. The coyote was euthanized.
Pfister re-set the traps and continued his motor patrol. He and a companion never rode more than 10 minutes without surprising a herd of deer. Several of the does appeared to be pregnant. The riders also passed several flocks of wild turkey.
Admiring the retreating game animals, Pfister chuckled. ``I'm doing a good job, ain't I?'' he said.