27 February 2012
I want to tell you the story of a fox, a fox that has been my friend since I found him as an infant. I call him Zero. He earned his name because of the significant '0' marks above his eyes. Such eyes were beautiful, being a luminescent shade of yellow. They watched over me every night as I slept, and I felt protected. When I was awake, I always had a brush out and in Zero's pelt. He has a fiery red pelt with black paws and ear tips, which I made a habit of playing with, along with his fluffy tail. He finds it annoying when I do this, but he always ends up getting even. He may steal my socks right off my feet or make me sneeze with his soft, fibrous hairs. I remember the day I found him; on the side of the road, yipping and whining pitifully for his mother, whom was laying dead beside him. The scene was so saddening that I took the little tyke home, to feed and to shelter. He didn't care for it at first, and he was very antisocial. But after a few weeks of getting his new routine straight, he finally moved into my home, choosing me as his favorite. I was thirteen then. And he was only a kit. Now I am a teenager, and he is an equal, as animal aging is a bit different from our own. Even as I write this, drinking tea and sitting in the warm afternoon sun of my mother's house, Zero is laying against me, his head on my hip and my hand petting him softly. He lays here, sleeping peacefully, even though I know in a few minutes he will be more energetic than a sugar fueled toddler. When I was fourteen, I would stay up late on the weekends and watch 'The Fox and the Hound' with Zero. I'm convinced he has a crush on Vixey, as he yips even now every time she appears on the television screen. It's actually amusing to watch.
When the London days are warm, Zero and I will go in the backyard, where a trampoline sits, often covered in leaves and pollen. Zero doesn't care. He jumps straight up on the trampoline's springy surface, with his nose down. With a yip, he jumps up, his bushy tail flailing around. I laughed when I first saw him do this. When I get on the trampoline, Zero drops low, in a position most dogs use when they feel playful. I jump towards him, and he jumps back. We repeat the process until we're both panting from exhaustion.
Zero has never met another fox, and I don't think he wants to. My point was proven when my mother tried to get me to let him go. When I did, he didn't move an inch. He looked up at me, sniffed, and trotted back inside. That proves that Zero prefers a civil life. So take that, Mother!
My Little Zero • Opuss № I