• Dale Bowman

Fox on the run, the joy: Ramble with the Lady

The red fox bolted across the street and past the decorative fruit trees in the yard a block from home so fast that ithe reality of a fox on the run did not sink in until it disappeared past a neighbor's porch.

The wonder of red foxes mean so much to me. They are my favorite mammal. And this morning just reinforced that.

Out of nowhere, there it was. A few years ago, we had foxes very noticably in town. They even reared young in a den under the storage units near the ball field on the edge of town. As I watched our daughter play softball that season, I would keep half an eye out for the foxes going in and out of a really small hole to their den under the storage units.

There is a more tradtional fox hole on the edge of the town pond. A few times over the years as Lady, our family's mutt, and I rambled around we would see it run into the hole. But it has been quite a while since we saw that.

Now I am curious where the fox is holed up. Or if it had come in from the edge of town.

The thing that makes red foxes extra special at this time is that they have been displaced by coyotes in recent years.

So a sighting of a red fox is something extra special.

Click here for some basic information on red foxes in Illinois in Illinois Department of Natural Resources.

Oh, the seriousness.

OK, naturally a red fox on the run, at least naturally for me, took me to Sweet's epic tune, ``Fox on the Run.''

God, I forgot how much that performance summed up a whole era, the shebang of it, the music, the hair and the clothing.

My head was so turned inward this morning, that I did not expect to notice anything. I was too much involved in work late last night and early tomorrow morning.

Though it was hard not to notice the gray squirrels. We had jumped six before we even reached the bus barn. Stunningly beautiful morning might explain all the squirrels.

The usual geese, robins, mourning doves and red-winged blackbirds. Bu the red fox was enough to make it a special ramble.

Back home, one last squirrel bolted from under the feeders on the front porch.

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