Double Damn You, Death!

So, one of the coolest things we found out about our property is that a family of red foxes has lived on this land for 25 years or something like that. Currently, there are three of them: momma, papa, and a son or daughter. They hide away all day, but around dusk we can see them begin their evening hunt. They run across our driveway often and we think one of their eating areas is behind the barn, because that is were we normally see them go. And even if we can't see them, we can hear them every single night. They sound like high-pitched dogs, but creepier. For something so cute, their howls sure are disturbing. The other night we were sitting under the oak, and right next to us in the vineyard we saw one. He was only about 10 yards away from us, which is the closest we've ever been able to get. He stopped and stared at us for about 30 seconds, then trotted off down the row. It was so exciting to be that close! And how cussing cute that little guy was. Skinny little body, long, lanky legs, and gigantic bushy tail that was more than half as long as the rest of him. I asked J, "I wonder when, if ever, we'll get to see him close up?"

Turns out, much sooner than I imagined.


The very next morning, J ran down to our tiny Main St to get the LA Times (they won't deliver to us!), and when he returned, he gave me the news: right at the bottom of our street, our little fox had been hit by a car and was laying in the gutter, dead. I jumped in the car and sped down to where he was. It couldn't have been but a few hours before that he was hit, because he was still soft and bug-free. We tried to move his body closer to the curb so no one else would run him over, but the animals who came to feast didn't give a cuss about that, so he was back in the street the next day (and had been run over again). I took some pictures, since this was, unfortunately, the closest I would ever get to him, and here they are. I am so sad to post these, but as you are seeing, this is life in the country. None of our neighbors even flinched, and J and I were leaning over the poor little guy, practically delivering his eulogy in the middle of the street. My sister suggested cutting off and keeping his tail as a tribute to him. For a split second I imagined myself in the dead of winter, necklaced by a luxuriously warm fox tail and sipping a hot Toddie on the spot where he died. But then I thought about how annoying it would get to have to explain over and over again where I got such a gem, so I decided against it.