We have a problem.
A fox problem.
It all started last summer when Miranda and Barack and Obrama became a pile of feathers while we slept. One night they were there and the next morning they were gone. And we were so sad.
That's when we found out there was a fox lurking about. Rude awakening, I would say.
It turns out that Hesston has a "town fox". Everyone - meaning anyone who has lived here for 20ish years - refer to it as that. When I bring it up, they casually say "Oh yes, that's just the town fox. It lives ________________." And then they fill in the blank with where they believe this "town fox" lives. Well, joke is on us, Hesston, because the town fox seems to live in about 7 different locations. Meaning, I believe, that it should be plural. There are "town foxes". Or fox. Or foxi. Or whatever. Just lots of foxes around here.
They hadn't pestered us since a year ago when they took our last three chickens. Until recently when I was going to church at about 7 am on a Sunday morning. When I pulled out of the garage I saw a streak of gray racing into our garage with a streak of brown not far behind. I know you're not supposed to curse on Sundays, but there was something along the lines of "Oh shit, Tybalt is going to be breakfast!" I laid on the horn and jumped out of the car and started screaming to Ryan. He came bolting out of the house, and...this is the part where a guy shows his true man colors...when you scream bloody murder and he runs out of the house in his boxers and straight into the face of danger....he ran right into the garage and chased that fox right out. Tybalt, don't ever doubt our love for you.
So we've been on the lookout for these foxi ever since. Afraid that they will eat our cat or our children.
Tiff discovered last week that "the town fox" was nesting under her shed next door to us. The city guys came and set a live trap. This is one foxy lady because she's been tripping the trap, eating the food, and still remaining free to roam the town. Its quite disconcerting for me because police pull up in front of our house every day and I have a mini panic attack while I do a head-count of the family and then breathe into a bag while I realize that the cop is just there to check the trap.
Ok. Here's the problem part.
Tonight, Tiff saw baby foxes run across the lawn. This is a problem for multiple reasons....#1 of course being that this seals the deal that we do indeed have "town foxi". Its officially plural. Problem #2 is this...the mama in me is sick sick sick about this live trap. We can't separate the mama and babies!! They aren't even weaned yet. What happens when a baby gets stuck in there tonight and can't eat?! Oh that poor mama. And that poor poor baby. Can't we just wait a week or two or twenty to catch them?
I don't want them to eat my cat. I don't want them to pester my children. I do not want pet foxi. But I do not want to see a mama and her babies separated, no matter what creature they are.
So Ryan told me how to spring the trap. So Tiff, if its sprung again tomorrow morning, it might have been the fox and it might have been me. Let's just say it was the fox.
And in the meantime, Mother Nature, please please pretty please somehow move that mama and her babies far far far away. Into the country where they belong. Pretty please?
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