One of our foxes, Patch (he's one of the two male cubs from last year for new readers) has lately been chancing his arm a bit by turning up in the early morning when Maz goes out the front for a smoke, in the hope of a bonus chicken breakfast. Sometimes he's even been still around when I'm heading out....
I don't begrudge him the meal, but I do worry that he's in the morning dog walking zone and I don't want him to have an accident, so a strict no morning feeding regime is now in place. However, the other morning Patch simultaneously made me laugh and nearly broke my resolve.
Maz goes off to work a bit ahead of me: partly this is a result of her being on a strict shift time at the hospital and partly deconfliction of bathroom use by the finely honed machine of our partnership. This particular morning I was behind the drag curve more than usual and had to wave her goodbye from the bedroom window instead of the door. As she went out of the door Patch scuttled from the step, and as she proceeded along the path he retreated to the archway through the terrace. Once she had passed, he emerged again and stood gazing forlornly at her back, ears down and tail sagging to the vertical. As she reached the car parking end of the road, she went to go right and pass a car, realised the gap between it and the next car was narrow and half-turned to the left.
Instantly Patch's ears shot up and his tail rose, indeed his every line stiffened in hope "ooh, she's coming back...." Maz went round the left side of the end car and off to find her own motor. "Oh no she's not" Patch drooped, his ears lowered, his tail fell, and he sagged disappointedly into a sitting position to gaze wistfully at where she had vanished.
In the bedroom I had to clap my hand over my mouth to suppress a huge laugh. But he was so full of pathos I nearly cried as well.
Perhaps it was fortunate that by the time I was dressed and downstairs Patch had decided it was time to get the hell out of the people place.
John