Whilst wandering up to the end of the garden to hang out the washing I saw a curious sight. Well, not immediatly, as I was labouring under the heavy burden of the washing basket which made my slow look up, leap ten feet in the air move look even more comic to the invisible observer 10 feet above my left shoulder that role playing games have tought me exists everywhere.
It was a fox. About five feet away pattering it merry path through the long grass. Not quick, not panicked, just jaunty. It stopped. Turned langerously towards me and stared. Our eyes connected, it’s tail bushed gently whilst my mind raced. “If I run away now it’ll run too and I’ll never make it back with my camera will I”. The fox, possibly not sensing my confusion pattered a further 10 feet away before turning and once again engaging me with it’s yellowy gleam. It looked slick and well fed, not fat but content. It turned once more and pattered behind the shed and out of my view. I stayed rooted to the spot, gently unbeliving for a couple of minutes whilst I heard rustling and crackling in the bushes where it obviously has it’s lair.
Then I hung the washing up to dry.