Foxes & Everything

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

 

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