At 3am, standing beneath barren trees waiting for Bruno to potty, a pack of foxes ambled by. It was one of those National Geographic moments that sent a shot of joy through me. There they were, foxes on a hunt. And there he was, the domesticated canine, leashed and wearing, his pink cashmere jumper.
The foxes stared at us. We stared back at them. I wondered if Bruno looked delectable. Even with his weight gain, he’s possibly only the size of a large rabbit. A pack of hungry foxes each the size of a small lab, working in cooperative fashion could easily have Bruno for breakfast.
They came closer, tails low, ears relaxed, eyes attentive. Bruno and I stood unflinchingly calm, watching them in return. By this time, I was wondering if they would allow me to pat them, if we told them, I am the Alpha Bitch.
Then as it was 3am, and almost 0 degrees, my imagination ran amok. What if I convinced them to follow us home? There’s enough raw meat in the freezer to feed all of them and Bruno. Why don’t I ever see them in the day? Where do they hide? How do they keep warm on such a biting night?
This peaceful moment of mutual consideration passed. The foxes suddenly dashed into the nearest backyard. Bruno and I turned away, climbed back up the hilly road, climbed upstairs, climbed into bed.
Before slumber, my prayer was simple.
Thank you, God for the world so sweet.
Thank you, God for the food we eat.
Thank you, God, for everything.