There is a path near my home that trails right down the middle of two waterways. On one side flows the Snake River, running high, fast and sparkling; or shallow, still and rocky, depending on the season. On the other side is a babbling creek that widens occasionally into large ponds or small pools, forming wetlands that attract every sort of wildlife. This nature trail in the middle of the city is where I take a daily walk.
To get to this favored path, it is necessary to cross a footbridge over the creek. Each footfall on its heavy wooden planks creates a delicious ringing clomp that echoes through the steel frame of the bridge. Midway in my crossing, I always pause to lean over the railings and peer down into the creek.
Jutting up through the water below is a very old stump; so old that it has sprouted a thick growth of grass on top. This grassy topknot fills out each spring and dries up each winter, so that by summer it is a chaotic mix of green and brown foliage, flopping askew in every direction.
The neck-like angle of the protruding stump, combined with its rounded unkempt crown of grass, create the illusion of some sort of large elfin creature poking its head up out of the water. I stare, fascinated by this uncanny lifelike presence. Something much like this must have inspired the tales of trolls living under bridges.
As much as I enjoy daydreaming at this particular spot, one morning I came upon something even more enchanting directly on the other side of the footbridge, where a thick tangle of wild roses and other low-lying brush grow. Right in the middle of the trail, next to this thicket, sat a very sleek young fox. Neither a newborn kit nor an adult, it was something in between: a juvenile with a svelte perfectly-shaped adult form, but in miniature.
Still young enough to be playful, naive and curious, it pawed and inspected the ground with each crawling insect, hopped and cavorted after every passing bird and sat pertly upright, staring at me for lengthy intervals in between.
Unaware of any possible threat of danger, it was as enthralled with me as I was with it. It behaved exactly as one would expect of a puppy or kitten; even to the point of wanting to follow me home. I did not want to encourage this, though, because the fox seemed too young to be on its own, away from the sheltering thicket. Also, the close proximity of a wild animal, even as cute as it was, made me nervous. After sitting on a nearby log, watching it play for quite some time, I fluttered my hand toward it in a “shooing” motion and walked quickly back over the bridge hoping it would not follow.
I thought about the little fox all that day and rode my bike back to the river path that evening, thinking I might see it again. If it was there, I was considering bringing it some of my pet’s dogfood; surely not a wise thing to do, but nevertheless hard to resist. However, it was no longer anywhere to be seen. My hope was that it was safely reunited with its family.
Several days passed without any further sightings, but on the fourth day I spotted the fellow once again sitting demurely, calm and upright, in the exact same spot directly in the middle of the pathway. I say little fellow, but the slender fox with its dainty wisp of a body could have just as easily been female.
This time I decided to try to snap a picture of it with my cellphone. I approached slowly and carefully, but as I edged closer it scampered away, chasing a nearby bird and running far down the trail. Although I returned home slightly disappointed without a picture that day, I was very pleased to have seen my little friend still thriving and couldn’t help but hope that it had caught a delicious poultry breakfast that morning!
