Fox Walk

 

I just had a walk with Murray, as is customary for such a time of day.
He was asking for it. I prefer it to be my idea, but what the heck.
Out we went, after I looked at the temps and stuck my beak out the
front door to second-guess the weather people.
My face evaluation confirmed that it wasn’t cold,
but there was a moist coolness in the air that brought the feeling lower,
so I dressed for it and leashed the hound and opened the door.

He checked out the air himself, sizing up the day as he always does,
sniffing an extra second or two before heading into it. 

We launched ourselves straight forward this time, walking from porch 

to flagstones to grass, passing the tree swing, which I regarded with affection 

for a moment before we were passing over the patch of straw thoughtfully strewn 

a season ago by the men who had torn up the yard for pipe work and left it 

awaiting final repair, through which new grass stands straight to see over 

the scattered stems. Mark across the street says they’ll come around 

and make good on it, and he’s not worried. That’s a relief, as I often feel 

for Mark that he has to see my lawn while I get to see his.

Murray sniffed enthusiastically along a route I’d tried unsuccessfully to interest 

him in yesterday, a path where I’d looked up from the piano to see something 

larger than a cat which turned out to be a reddish fox, of healthy pelt and bushy tail, 

which departed the front of our yard, crossed the street, and vanished between 

Mark’s and Mike’s houses. He wanted to follow the trail right on past the yellow 

hydrant that stands between them, but I drew the line there, and we went on down the street. 

As always, he found reasons not to walk on the left. Had to sniff this, had to sniff that. 

We got down to the end of the block and wandered toward the beaten green 

that connects this subdivision with the Knickerbocker field and the path to 

the railroad trail that connects to everything else. 

As always, he sniffed a lot, sometimes on the ground, sometimes in the air 

while listening intently and looking off into the distance, muttering 

monosyllabic comments to himself under his breath from time to time. 

Another dog and human connected by a leash went by, and I had a short 

meteorological chat with the latter while Murray chose the moment 

to relieve himself (I am displeased that he so often picks yards where kids play. 

What’s with that?), so I didn’t get around to telling the neighbor about the fox 

that had been in my yard.

A minute later, Murray was looking intently between two of the houses at the end of the block, 

and I looked up just in time to see the fox unhurriedly traverse the last couple of yards 

and step behind the second house. I continued clutching the leash, a thing I often think 

I’m getting good at until the day Murray decides he needs to be a vector, 

and I’m an irrelevant constant to be disregarded. We hurried along the street now, 

both hoping to see Reynard again, but we didn’t. 

It’s easy to see, in retrospect, that the trail was fresher today. 

Lots fresher, with a working fox on the other end of it. 

Of course I didn't get any photos, but I can at least offer a legit pic of a similar animal 

(though sadly mangy) seen and snapped in this very back yard. 

 

A red fox that found my yard worthy of being in, 2012.

 

I saw this one a few times about ten years ago. Relation, perhaps.

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ABOUT THE PARAGRAPHING: 

Blogger has made some change that resulted in my pasted-in text 

having no right-hand margin, so I had to throw in line returns 

in hopes it would work on other screens. Sorry, it's all their fault, not mine.

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