Foxy

So, there I was Sunday morning, standing at the kitchen sink, washing some dishes. Out at the edge of my vision I pick up some motion outside, at the edge of the tall grass. I look out and sure enough, there is a fox, rusty gray with black legs, trotting purposefully across my property. I called over the elder offspring, and we observed the sly canid crossing the dirt road and heading into the woods on the other side.

Personally, I wish he would hang around my shed more. He would have free access to the rather substantial rodent community that has taken up the habit of pooping little mousey poops all over my tools and lawn chairs. I have found that mouse traps seem to simply encourage them to make more, like they think they are living Doritos – “crunch all you want…we’ll just make more.”

A good fox is hard to find.