Foxy love
Last evening I waited for T to get her running shoes on so that we could go for our walk. I smelled something vile and looked over to find her opening up a can of sardines.
"What are you doing?" I asked. "Neither one of us like sardines."
"It's for Jeremy," T answered. "I was talking to Padric today on my morning walk and he says that sardines are good for his coat." She peered into the fridge and then took out some turkey slices that were nearly a week old. We wouldn't get to them but he would like them, we decided. She carefully wrapped the sardines into the slices and we set out for Towl Park.
We are part of a community that is caring for an orphaned red fox. He appeared in early Summer, just a baby. His spindly legs held up his body on two enormous black feet. Now, in early Autumn, he is nearly grown, a cocky teenage fox.
We've saved his life but also spoiled him rotten, I fear.
At first, when we all reported spottings of this baby fox, we were all concerned. The Humane Society was called by many of us. They claimed that they came out but could not catch the fox. This was ludicrous, we all knew. None of us were stupid enough to hand feed him but the fox (I named him Jeremy after a character in Steve Martin's Shopgirl) was completely unafraid of humans. If any of us had thrown a snickers bar in the back seat of our car and opened the door, he would have hopped right in.
We are a diverse group at Towl Park. We are walkers, dog walkers, bike riders, runners, fishermen and women, and we even have a couple who bring their pet ducks for a weekly swim. We come from all walks of life. I tend to be bad at remembering names but I can usually remember their dog's names. There is Freya and her walker, Jim. Fonzie and Charlene. Katie and her walker, a dark haired woman who wears designer jogging attire, Atticus and his walker, a man who is so handsome and friendly that I blush like a 16 year old every time I run into them, Tinkerbell, who is a HUGE mastiff with a bright pink collar and her walker, an ancient man who walks painfully slowly. Tinkerbell walks patiently beside him and stands very still when the man needs to stop and hold on to her to catch his balance. There are lots of fishermen and women. There are a husband and wife team who come almost daily, no matter the weather. There is a lone man who seldom talks to any of us but ALWAYS pets the animals. There is an older woman who never goes home without at least two fish. She claims that she eats fish for dinner every night, if possible. There is Padric, an older man who walks with a big stick and always wears a panama hat, is on the Autism spectrum and is the smartest person whom I have ever known.
We all know each other. Well, as much as park dwellers will. And we all love the fox. As I said, I call him Jeremy. He is also known as Remy, Nigel, Chief, Sweet Boy, George, Floyd, Ump, Charlie and Kurt. The Humane Society did not do its job, even after multiple calls. Other services were called with no real attention. After nothing worked, we all decided to just let Jeremy be a fox. He had a den. None of us has been able to find it but as Padric assured us, if he didn't have some sort of den, he wouldn't be alive.
We don't know Jeremy's story. Was his family killed? Is he some sort of outcast? We'll never know. All we know is that he is ours. For now. He is already pulling away from us. As a young fox, he would often approach us for food. We didn't go so far as to hand feed him, but we laid food down for him and he ate whatever we left. He wasn't picky. One woman shares her almonds with him. Charlene brings him cans of tuna. Padric gives him tofu and sardines.
T and I started always carrying dog bisquits with us. He liked those. Once, as I sat on a bench writing on a warm, late Summer's afternoon, Jeremy came and sat next to me. He never ventures close enough to touch, just close enough to admire. I laid out his bisquits and after eating them, he settled about a foot away from me and settled down, one sleek paw over the other. We watched the pond. I told him about my book. He never once looked at me but I know he was listening. I sang him a song and he politely walked away and did not return until I stopped singing. I took the hint.
When fishermen or women are there, he would sidle up to them casually. They tossed him the small fish that they usually threw back in the water.
Now, we see Jeremy less and less. He is starting to look healthier. His coat is sleek and burnished red and brown. He needs a family to groom him but since he has none, he makes do.....like some of us humans, I suppose. For now, he has us to get him over the rough parts. Because he looks healthier, we all surmise that he is catching things to eat on his own, too. We hope so. But, if not, there will always be Charlene to bring a can of tuna a few days a week. Padric will keep him supplied in tofu and sardines. So will we, along with our dog bisquits. One day, T said that she saw the good looking guy with Atticus the dog bring a paper plate with leftover scrambled eggs and three strips of bacon.
We have his back. I suspect it is just for a short time, though. They grow up, you see. It is a lesson that most of us have learned. You nurture them in babyhood and then suddenly, before you know it, they are adolescents, and then.....adults and living on their own.
I'm sure that Jeremy or Chief or George or Floyd will stop back now and then to have a bite of sardine and listen to see how my book is going.....I will be kind and not sing.
"What are you doing?" I asked. "Neither one of us like sardines."
"It's for Jeremy," T answered. "I was talking to Padric today on my morning walk and he says that sardines are good for his coat." She peered into the fridge and then took out some turkey slices that were nearly a week old. We wouldn't get to them but he would like them, we decided. She carefully wrapped the sardines into the slices and we set out for Towl Park.
We are part of a community that is caring for an orphaned red fox. He appeared in early Summer, just a baby. His spindly legs held up his body on two enormous black feet. Now, in early Autumn, he is nearly grown, a cocky teenage fox.
We've saved his life but also spoiled him rotten, I fear.
At first, when we all reported spottings of this baby fox, we were all concerned. The Humane Society was called by many of us. They claimed that they came out but could not catch the fox. This was ludicrous, we all knew. None of us were stupid enough to hand feed him but the fox (I named him Jeremy after a character in Steve Martin's Shopgirl) was completely unafraid of humans. If any of us had thrown a snickers bar in the back seat of our car and opened the door, he would have hopped right in.
We are a diverse group at Towl Park. We are walkers, dog walkers, bike riders, runners, fishermen and women, and we even have a couple who bring their pet ducks for a weekly swim. We come from all walks of life. I tend to be bad at remembering names but I can usually remember their dog's names. There is Freya and her walker, Jim. Fonzie and Charlene. Katie and her walker, a dark haired woman who wears designer jogging attire, Atticus and his walker, a man who is so handsome and friendly that I blush like a 16 year old every time I run into them, Tinkerbell, who is a HUGE mastiff with a bright pink collar and her walker, an ancient man who walks painfully slowly. Tinkerbell walks patiently beside him and stands very still when the man needs to stop and hold on to her to catch his balance. There are lots of fishermen and women. There are a husband and wife team who come almost daily, no matter the weather. There is a lone man who seldom talks to any of us but ALWAYS pets the animals. There is an older woman who never goes home without at least two fish. She claims that she eats fish for dinner every night, if possible. There is Padric, an older man who walks with a big stick and always wears a panama hat, is on the Autism spectrum and is the smartest person whom I have ever known.
We all know each other. Well, as much as park dwellers will. And we all love the fox. As I said, I call him Jeremy. He is also known as Remy, Nigel, Chief, Sweet Boy, George, Floyd, Ump, Charlie and Kurt. The Humane Society did not do its job, even after multiple calls. Other services were called with no real attention. After nothing worked, we all decided to just let Jeremy be a fox. He had a den. None of us has been able to find it but as Padric assured us, if he didn't have some sort of den, he wouldn't be alive.
We don't know Jeremy's story. Was his family killed? Is he some sort of outcast? We'll never know. All we know is that he is ours. For now. He is already pulling away from us. As a young fox, he would often approach us for food. We didn't go so far as to hand feed him, but we laid food down for him and he ate whatever we left. He wasn't picky. One woman shares her almonds with him. Charlene brings him cans of tuna. Padric gives him tofu and sardines.
T and I started always carrying dog bisquits with us. He liked those. Once, as I sat on a bench writing on a warm, late Summer's afternoon, Jeremy came and sat next to me. He never ventures close enough to touch, just close enough to admire. I laid out his bisquits and after eating them, he settled about a foot away from me and settled down, one sleek paw over the other. We watched the pond. I told him about my book. He never once looked at me but I know he was listening. I sang him a song and he politely walked away and did not return until I stopped singing. I took the hint.
When fishermen or women are there, he would sidle up to them casually. They tossed him the small fish that they usually threw back in the water.
Now, we see Jeremy less and less. He is starting to look healthier. His coat is sleek and burnished red and brown. He needs a family to groom him but since he has none, he makes do.....like some of us humans, I suppose. For now, he has us to get him over the rough parts. Because he looks healthier, we all surmise that he is catching things to eat on his own, too. We hope so. But, if not, there will always be Charlene to bring a can of tuna a few days a week. Padric will keep him supplied in tofu and sardines. So will we, along with our dog bisquits. One day, T said that she saw the good looking guy with Atticus the dog bring a paper plate with leftover scrambled eggs and three strips of bacon.
We have his back. I suspect it is just for a short time, though. They grow up, you see. It is a lesson that most of us have learned. You nurture them in babyhood and then suddenly, before you know it, they are adolescents, and then.....adults and living on their own.
I'm sure that Jeremy or Chief or George or Floyd will stop back now and then to have a bite of sardine and listen to see how my book is going.....I will be kind and not sing.
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