A few weeks ago I was sitting in my dining room, checking in with Matt (who was at work), when a movement outside the window caught my eye. I glanced up and saw a cat-like figure moving leisurely across the lawn and quickly realized it was not our cat, nor was it a cat at all. The creature was a fox!
I blurted out that fact, and Matt quickly encouraged me to get a picture. (“What? A fox?! Are you sure? In our yard? Really? Get a picture!”) I fumbled with my phone to get the camera function up (I am not super tech-y, so it takes a second) and tiptoed through the kitchen to the family room, where I could see the fox had now made it to the patio.
The fox was full grown, about as big as a medium dog – a good-sized terrier, say, or a little bigger than a Cocker Spaniel. (I’m not great at guessing weight, but maybe 40 pounds?) It was red, with a big bushy tail and sharp, pointed nose, and it looked completely at ease in our yard, as if it belonged there.
I moved closer to the back door, which has a large window, and the fox noticed me. It registered my presence, but didn’t get freaked out, like I expected, so I moved closer to the window, and finally the fox decided to move along to the side of the house. It still wasn’t freaked out – the moving along was more like it was doing a slow perimeter check of the yard, casual and relaxed. I waited a beat, then opened the door and cautiously stepped out and peeked around the corner.
The fox was now by the front fence, and when it saw me it kind of paused, assessing my threat level, then casually scrambled up the fence and hopped over – not in an alarmed way, just in a “I was going this way anyway” kind of way.
I immediately texted the picture to Matt, who was impressed that A) there was a fox in our yard, B) that I had been able to take a picture, and C) that the fox was as big as it was. I explained the casual attitude, and how it had seemed unconcerned but not freakishly so – it wasn’t rabid or anything, just confident.
We marveled at how this took place in the middle of the afternoon, and wondered where it had been and where it was going. (We surmised that it lives in the regional park nearby, along with the deer we see fairly regularly, skunks we occasionally smell, and coyotes that we hear some nights — but we still don’t know why a fox was a couple of blocks into suburbia, hanging out on our patio, in the middle of the day.)
Throughout this wildlife encounter, our vicious attack cat (ha ha ha) was blissfully unaware of the presence of the creature in her territory, as she was curled up, asleep, in the sunshine spill on the foot of my bed that warms the fluffed-up afghan she is fond of napping on. (She still doesn’t know, and we aren’t going to enlighten her.)
Last week I was in the kitchen, washing dishes, when a movement caught my eye. It was another fox – a different fox – meandering along our back fence. This fox was smaller (closer to 30 pounds, maybe, or the size of a Jack Russell terrier) and more of a medium-dark gray, with a less-bushy tail. I again scrambled to take a picture, but after snapping two the fox noticed me and put a little hustle into its meander, disappearing along the fence on the side of our house.
We are surrounded by dogs on all sides. Granted, one is an elderly wiener dog who probably can’t see or hear much anymore, but one is a retired police dog and the other is a large-ish lab mix, so you’d think their very presence would kind of deter a fox wanting to visit, right? I guess not, and I’m kind of glad. I liked seeing the wild creatures up close – well, as close as I was, behind my window, because I’m not that brave.
Juliana LeRoy wears many hats, including wife, mother, paraeducator and writer. She can be spotted around Windsor gathering material, or reached at ml****@so***.net.
