Foxy Days

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

The dog turned his head to look up at the fox, “Do you really have to do that?”

The fox said, “Oh, and what are you going to do about it?”

“Let’s find out,” said the dog.

#

Well, it was a pretty short fight, since the dog was lazy and really couldn’t be bothered getting into it, a few snarls, a couple of lunges, exposed teeth, and he was done. And the fox, being quick, had little difficulty getting out of his way.

The dog slunk off – but only a few metres – and found a spot in the shade, where the overhang on a low porch meant that the fox couldn’t really jump over him anymore.

#

The fox had lost interest in dog-jumping by now anyway, and went trotting off into the forest to find his girl. She was there in their den, all curled up amongst the old leaves. He slid in there and lay down next to her, resting his head on the warmth of her belly. She leaned over to lick his face. “You’ve got such soft fur,” she said, “and it’s such a nice a colour, all dark auburn, with a hint of freshly turned earth.”

“And yours,” he said, “it’s bright like a bonfire, and I like these little white flecks on your shoulder there.”

They huddled together there, watching the sun as it set; the horizon turned both of their fur a little golden.

(Sometimes I like to just write something completely random. This is one such time.)

Picture credit/discredit: author's own work