Yesterday, after I had gone to work, my wife was in the kitchen. Danny, who is four, was at the window at the top of the stairs, which looks out onto the back yard. Suddenly he said, with his lisp, “Mommy there’s a foxth in the yard.”
Assuming that he had seen a small reddish dog, or perhaps a large fox squirrel, she thought nothing of it. But then Michael, who is seven, went to the window. He said, excitedly, “Mommy! There really is a fox!”
Sure enough, there was a red fox in the back yard.
As they stood watching from the window, the fox turned and looked directly at them for a moment, then scurried away across the neighbor’s yard.
Now you understand we live in town. While there is a wooded hillside of maybe a half acre or so adjacent to our back yard, the nearest countryside is maybe a mile away, at least. Foxes are famously secretive; I have seen one only three or four times in my life. How this fellow wandered into town and into our yard is a great mystery.
To everyone but Danny.
He is four and the world is still enchanted. He was no more amazed at seeing a fox outside his window than at seeing a phoenix or a fairy…