I neglected to mention this sooner but the other day when I was walking with my dad, we saw a fox.
It trotted across the street about half a block ahead of us, paused, checked us out, then ambled into someone’s yard. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a live, roaming-free fox. I’m not even sure I’ve ever seen one in the zoo, though certainly I must have at some point whether I recall having done so or not. It’s the first notable non-avian predator I’ve seen around here, and I was thrilled to get a chance to observe the bushy-tailed, red-faced, black-eared thing of fairy tales. I love where I live. My dad said he’d seen it the week before across the street from our house, but had convinced himself it was a cat or small dog. Sergei went crazy, too, and nearly wrenched my arm off trying to get at the little guy.
P.S. I think this is the 400th post I’ve made to the blog. Not bad, eh?
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This blog, Among Mad People, and its contents by Anna Schwind are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
I can count on one hand the number of times in my life I’ve seen a fox out in the world. Growing up in New Jersey, we often drove through a wildlife refuge called the Great Swamp, and we’d see a fox maybe once every four or five years. In Virginia, maybe twice. For some reason, and you put it better with "thing of fairy tales" than I ever have, every time it’s something magical and thrilling. I always grab the arm of whoever I’m with and stage-whisper, "was that a *fox*?" as though if I say it too loud it won’t be true.