Early this morning I opened the back door to bring in the milk,* and about thirty feet back, there he was: a dingy orange brown, the size of a medium dog but not a dog. Pointy nose and a bushy tail. A fox. It was the damndest thing. He froze, looked straight at me, then loped off into the bushes.
It’s not like we live in the country. It’s pure old suburbia here, so seeing a FOX is purely weird. A couple of miles from here there was a recent coyote scare–coyotes!–in an old neighborhood with sidewalks and bungalows. There were rumors of vicious pet attacks, and vigilante groups of uptight homeowners were agitating to hunt down the marauders. Nothing came of it, of course–some people said the whole thing was a case of coyote hysteria.
Not sure what to make of all this misplaced wildlife.
Just in case anybody thought I was off on a permanent voyage into furniture-related knitting, here’s the weigh-in on ye olde Keava. Almost done with the second repeat. The tension is starting to even out, which is a relief. I was beginning to think this was going to be the only three-dimensional Fair Isle sweater in the world. You should see me, pokily making my way: even with my crummy memory, I’ve got the hang of the 18-stitch repeat.
My question for the moment: what do I do about the ends? Eek!
*Kay, I know there is a history of milk deliverers in your family, so I have to tell you: the milk man has saved Hubbo and me from serious marital strife. Early in our marriage, before we had kids and didn’t know HOW EASY LIFE WAS, we had constant skirmishes over milk. We were both certain that the other should be the one to buy the milk, with the result that nobody bought the milk. A friend (bless her) said, “Why don’t you get it delivered?” Well, I had no idea such an antique service still existed, but sure enough, the Purity Dairy had a fleet of milk trucks painted like spotted cows, and they’d bring you milk and butter and whatever dairy things you needed. I’ve seen the milk man only a couple of times, around four a.m., but when I do it’s with the tenderest affection. I wonder if he knows how many customers appreciate the miraculous appearance of milk at their back doors.