Saturday, August 12, 2006

I'm Not a Foxy Lady


BeGone, Brazen Fox!

Well here he is. I live about a mile from a state university, in the middle of a typical small town neighborhood, and yet wildlife apparently roams our vulnerable streets and backyards. Tell me the truth: does he make the hairs on your forearm stand up, too? He looks more sly in person.

Last year there was a raccoon that would regularly climb onto our window ledge at dusk and sit and stare at us. I couldn’t tell if he thought we were a family of zoo animals there to entertain him, or if he wanted to come in and join us eating ice cream and watching Jeopardy.

No matter how many nights he showed up, he scared me every time. The adrenalin rush made my arm hairs stand up and goose bumps rise over me in waves. Even during the day, I checked the window periodically just to make sure he wouldn’t pop up like the evil being in a suspense movie. Just the memory of the previous night’s stalking would bring on the shivers again.

So the fox is causing the same effect. To research tips to scare him away, I Googled “brazen foxes,” but that was apparently a bad idea, according to our family-friendly internet filter. I did find a little advice, but mainly I found warnings about how they eat small animals (Zoe!) and leave fleas and ticks in your yard and may carry rabies. Rabies?

Great.

So I’ve got to come up with a way to scare him off before he starts knocking on the back door saying, “Little dog, little dog, let me
in . . . .” I know; I know—it was a wolf who said those terrible words in the fairy tale, but a fox is close enough, and our fireplace, should he try to foxily slide down the chimney, is out of order, so landing in a boiling cauldron isn’t an option. But he’s gotta go.

Brrrrr.

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