The neighborhood slut strikes again.
Every year our resident fox has her kits. This year, she outdid herself. Six - count 'em, six.
Before our year-long, QUEEN OF THE ROAD trip, Tim and I lived in the mountains above Boulder, in the front range of the Rockies. We never saw this much wildlife. Who knew living in the city would be this Mutual of Omaha?
The kits come out from under our deck to play early in the a.m. (so I'm told) and after 3 p.m. So, without further ado, here are some kit pics:
Once they realized I would be staying inside, behind the window (which is how I prefer seeing nature, anyway)...
... it's party time!
No wonder mom needs a rest.
Hopefully, Tim didn't have plans for that glove.
Someone's as fascinated by me as I am by him:
Someone else, not so much:
Sorry toots, you're the one trespassing in my yard:
I had been calling them "pups" until my father-in-law (who lives in rural Arkansas, so I'll take his word for it) told me they're "kits." Makes sense - they actually behave alot more like kittens than puppies. One was getting into something it shouldn't right below our bedroom window, so I knocked on the pane. The kit immediately ran away, but then quickly returned, peering right in at me. It even jumped up on the ledge to get a better look (and promptly fell off. Haven't quite gotten the balance thing worked out, yet.)
I should be writing, I should be getting the house ready to put on the market. I should be doing a lot of things. Instead, I've been spending an inordinate amount of time observing these fox kits. Tim can't quite understand it: For someone with as much antipathy to the outdoors as I... But, with such incredible cuteness literally (and litterally) mere feet from our windows, I can't seem to get enough.
And they say Twitter 's a time-suck.
Update: I may just have been cured. One of them killed a squirrel and brought it back to their den. Yeah, I know, the whole Circle of Life thing. Fine, but I don't want to witness it. Isn't that why we have deli counters?