The fox.

 The speckled brown and gray fox living in my woods wants to be friends with my dogs. A few times in the early morning when the dark is still upon us, the dogs find him and chase him down. Then he turns around and chases them back down the manicured lawns. Suburban fox thinks these dogs are playmates. I have to sadly break it to my dogs that alas, they cannot be friends. Scares of rabies and other wild animal diseases make me stop our morning venture into the front yard and street. Now, we are relegated to the back yard, not nearly as fun and expansive. 

We share land with the foxes and coyotes that pass through on occasion. These are suburban wild animals doing their best to survive on chipmunks and squirrels and the occasional chicken raided from millennial-owned chicken coops. One such raid has denied me the pleasure of light blue chicken eggs and their creamy yokes that a neighbor’s chicken so graciously laid for me for about a year before being eaten by a rogue predator. New chickens lay small brown eggs, but none as memorable as the blue ones.