For the past week a friendly fox has started to come to visit. I believe he is the fox our neighbors have named Fritz. On Easter Sunday he had an encounter with our gray tabby cat, Purrpikitty. I'm not sure if Fritz wanted to eat her or sniff her. When I got outside the fox is laying in a snow bank, and Purrky was crouched in the dirt puffed up to the size of a basketball.
Monday morning, Fritz was back; sitting, waiting patiently by the wood pile. I crept outside and crouched in the driveway to watch him. Fritz, being the friendly fox he is, came trotting over. He sniffed my fingers and later came up to snitch bits of lunch meat from my hand.
I'm playing a dangerous game: enamored by this fox's beauty, his tame nature. We have chickens that is a tempting treat if Fritz keeps coming around. Yet, I love to watch him, feel at peace around him. He seems to come around every once in a while as a guide and friend. So here I sit wondering if Fritz will plunder my poultry or guide me to the next phase of my homesteading dream.
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