Thankful for wildlife sightings

A fox lives in our neighborhood, or maybe more than one.

Since Daylight Savings Time ended, when we're coming home in the late afternoon, turning our car off the main road and into our neighborhood, a small golden fox sometimes sits calmly in the middle of the street.  As our car approaches, she rises and saunters away into the brush, her tail swinging heavy and thick behind her.

Perhaps she is a grown kit from the litter born here last year.

Schubert doesn't care for foxes.

Shubert doesn't care for Honey-Bear, the golden retriever who lives next-door, either.  In fact, his hatred of Honey-Bear knows no bounds.  "I do not like that Honey-Bear," he tells me, indignant, whenever she comes into view.  Or, he screams.  Have you ever heard a dog scream?  It's sort of like a yelp, only more intense.

This morning, Schubert was on self-appointed guard duty, as per usual.  Shawn was in Detroit.  I was trying to make my own coffee in Shawn's absence, which is particularly difficult for me, because (1) Shawn has me spoiled on his really good coffee, and (2) I simply lack the wherewithal to make coffee before I've had any coffee.  I used to think Keurigs were a silly gimmick, but I am starting to understand.  No, Keurigs don't produce the best coffee.  But they are designed so that those-who-cannot-make-coffee-before-they-have-had-coffee can actually get some coffee.  There's more justification than I thought.

I digress.  Back to the wildlife.

I was in the kitchen, trying desperately to find a pair of reading glasses so I could decipher the marks on the coffee maker water gauge so I could start some coffee before I got a migraine.

Suddenly, from the front hall, Schubert began to scream.  He screamed, yelped and howled while his little paws went scritchy-scritchy-scritchy-scritchy-scritchy on the sidelight window.

Figuring it was on account of Honey-Bear, I headed up the front hall to do some damage control for the woodwork.  Over the weekend, I cleaned up the front porch, removing the hanging baskets of ferns and clearing most of what was left in the flower patch.  Thus, I had a clear view out to the yard, where I expected to observe the reddish fur of plodding Honey-Bear.  Instead, I saw, right in front of my porch, what at first appeared to be a horse.

A deer was ambling by, perhaps foraging now that the corn fields have been harvested.  At the sound of Schubert and the sight of my appearing shadow, she--it was a huge doe--picked up her pace, loped out of our yard, across the street, and into the neighbor's yard.  At the corner, she lept about five feet, excessively clearing a fire-hydrant.  White tail high, she cantered up the boulevard.

I'm thankful for such a breathtaking sight.  You don't see something like that every day.