Be Foxy
My dog has a bark that sounds like a cross between a sea lion's bark and the type of air horn used to signal the end of a soccer game. This morning when I let him out, he stood at the edge of our driveway and bark-howled with an intensity that didn’t match the Sunday morning vibes of the neighborhood.
I tried calling him in, but he was standing facing away from me with his nose and tail arched at attention and his focus pointed directly at a satiny red shape in the road just down the street. It was far away, but the not-quite-a-dog and not-quite-a-cat shape was that of a young red fox. The morning was cool, but the pavement was warm from the sun, and the fox was sprawled on its side, taunting my dog by flicking its tail.
We have a wireless electric fence installed, and although he wasn’t wearing his collar this morning, our dog is well-trained enough to know not to pass the invisible line. His body and mind were aching to take off and run after the shape, but his feet stayed fixed and he kept barking.
I put on my Birkenstocks, wet from the morning dew, and walked to the end of the driveway to join him. We watched the fox, who stood, walked in a circle, and then sat facing us. He lifted a front paw to his mouth, licking it daintily, ignoring me and my loud dog. To restore the neighborhood quiet, I dragged my dog inside.
