We live fairly close to the canyon behind our town that is still pretty rural, and there is a "heritage" orange orchard of about 80 acres less than a block away that connects to that canyon. Coyotes in battalion strength live around us, as well as raccoons, foxes, bobcats, but few possums or skunks (thankfully). I would love to dump every coyote I see nearby, but being in the 'burbs with the Tupperware moms and soccer dads = bad juju to air out the song dogs.
Those coyotes in the pic were right healthy until they got processed appropriately.
I miss being able to drive 10 minutes out of town and set up a call hideout. The Ridgecrest coyotes got A LOT of hunting pressure--there isn't a lot else to do up there, unless you ride dirt bikes. So calling them up took some doing. Mu usual bit was to run outbound on a line road for 2-4 miles and whack 2-5 jackrabbits with the 22-250 or 243 to get some scent rolling around, then turn about. I drove back a short bit, left the truck and hid out, and worked a jackrabbit screamer. THAT WORKED. The song dogs couldn't say "NO" to the dinner bell when the scent was rolling. Good fun, that.
I'm sure that 218 Bee will DO IN a coyote just fine. I've whacked them with the 25/20 WCF to 120 yards with zero issues, if hit well. If not hit well, hit them again. They aren't for dinner.
Coyotes can mess up. Not often, but it does happen. One fine late afternoon Marie and I were Jeeping up a gradual incline in the El Paso Mountains south of town when we saw on the next ridge a coyote that seemed to be keeping pace with us one ridge to our left, at about 200 yards. Around here, coyotes are usually "Gonzo Moretti" when they see cars or people, but not this Wile E. As we continued upgrade, our ridge and his ridge got progressively closer together, he didn't flare off. I slowed--he slowed. I stopped--he stopped. About 125 yards off. He sat down, looking right at me.
I didn't know what to think. Was he rabid? Was he a domesticated pet? (There were a few of these in town). I got the Mini-14 out when he started slow walking toward us, head lowered in a stalking slink--not like a submissive dog. At about the 75 yard point, I sent him a 55 grain Ballistic Tip that entered where his muzzle met his eyes. One each, rehabbed song dog. I guess he has gotten the bulge on city people over the weekends, dunno what he had in mind. He looked pretty healthy to me, except for the bullet's good work.