Last night a fox barked in our street, raising Scout's hackles even as she slept. It wasn't the unearthly scream of a vixen calling her suitors to a clicketting, but the sharp triple contact-call of the dog. Perhaps they have already paired, our garden just part of the mosaic that will form their territory.
I met him once outside the Turkish deli on the corner, bold as brass at six in the evening. He lifted his muzzle to sniff at the bright tiers of fruit before trotting unhurriedly on.