``The Dead Foxes'' would be a perfect name for an all-girl Goth band.
``The Dead Foxes'' at Metro tonight. Can you envision it? Before you get too excited, no ``The Dead Foxes'' are not playing the Clark Street institution in Chicago tonight. Nor will they be appearing at the Double Door tomorrow night.
But I can see the band. And almost hear what kind of music they would make. Or what kind of racket.
And I can see them set up and playing on the new viewing area built along the north old clay pit.
Just to be sure, I Googled ``The Dead Foxes,'' and came up with nothing of interest other than some pretty wild images of the anti-fur crowd.
I did find a ``DeadFoxes'' on Facebook, which I think is a very minor German band, if I remember my smattering of German.
Why ``The Dead Foxes?'' Yesterday, I saw the second squashed red fox out on the main highway to the west of the lake west of the town pond. About a week ago I saw another one in almost the same spot.
I fear that is it for the pair of foxes living in town. For regular readers, remember back on April 29 I did an entry about a red fox bolting across the street a block from home on a morning ramble.
I sure hope both foxes are not both gone. Or if they are, that their pups are big enough to survive on their own. Red foxes are about my favorite mammal.
If you are wondering, yes I remember ``The Foxes,'' the indie rock band. But in my mind, ``The Dead Foxes'' would have a much harder edge to their music.
A rabbit loped off down the alley by the fire house as Lady, our family's mutt, and I rambled off this morning.
It was truly a morning of rabbits, which probably in a loose way connects to red foxes. Another rabbit, which Lady never saw, hid along the tracks as we crossed the side rail separating town from the wildness of the town pond.
Lady and I surveyed all the Canada geese swimming on the north pit from the new viewing area. It is kind of cool, though I sorta resent the civilizing aspect such a linear structure brings to a semi-wild area such as the town pond.
The viewing area, one of the town workers told me, was for a club, which runs those remote-control boats. There are some small yellow buoys in the north pit for them, too.
A baby rabbit, so tiny it would have easily fit in my hand, sprinted toward the shoreline brush as Lady and I crossed the bridge over the neckdown connecting the two pits. It barely escaped a the lunge by Lady.
Back on the edge of town, some two dozen mourning doves exploded in a cluster of whistle-flutters from picking grit in the gravel area near the grain elevators. As I was trying to count the doves, harder than you might, the fourth rabbit of the morning bolted from the side rail and Lady had a short go at it.
Downtown, the chef-cook was loading up his food truck for nursery/migrant workers. The front on the restaurant was repainted and the facade fixed yesterday. I will ask him some morning if he is going to formally open the restaurant again. The town could use that.
Civilizing should be done downtown. Leave the wildness on the edge of town alone.
Sounds like a Bruce Springsteen song, ``Wildness on the Edge of Town.''
Getting around musically this morning, Chicago to New Jersey.