I pulled back the curtains and immediately saw the fox in the garden.
It was jarring.
This was no mangy specimen. Rather, he was majestic, with his thick golden fur.
Obviously an A-lister amongst foxes.
But here he was, curled up, nose tucked in. Slap bang in the middle of the frosty lawn.
Certainly not hiding. Looking like he’d chosen this open space as somewhere safe to rest for a while.
Was he injured? Surely he must be to sleep here.
I stood and quietly watched him for a few moments.
He shifted position. Stood up and moved a step. Was that a limp?
Two arrogant magpies landed close by. He observed them. Ignored them.
I purposely made a slight noise and they quickly flew off.
I felt protective of my fox in the garden. Sad that he might be hurt.
The sweet voice of the girl on the RSPCA helpline gave me instructions.
Find a long handled brush and gently approach your fox.
I opened the door carefully.
He turned, looked at me. We shared a moment.
But before I had taken more than 2 steps he was up and off.
Glancing back, just once, as he bounded across the grass.
And with an effortless leap, he was on the wall.