Yesterday, upon exiting Rockburn Park, a car that was in front of me had hit a baby fox and continued on without even braking. I got out to find that the fox had been paralyzed in it’s hind legs. I tried sitting next to it but it dragged itself away. I cut him off to keep him from doing more damage to himself but he’d just start in the opposite direction. After playing this morbid game of pong for a good, really a painful, ten minutes, he finally settled down and he allowed me to sit with him, at a safe distance mind you. I’m fairly certain he was aware of his own mortality and i’m fairly certain he was weeping, although he hadn’t made a sound aside from his heavy breathing. I could see a sense of somber in his eyes, a fear growing of what would come next. I felt as though my presence, which at first seemed to pose threat to him, had advanced to one of light and comfort, not unlike a shepherd. I felt a connection with this creature, but more than that, I sympathized with him. What had gone wrong? What had he done to justify such a terrible end? For all I knew he may have been a saint among saints, a son-fox with a family. But despite the astronomical chances of him and that car intersecting, he was hit and that was that. it was a heart-wrecking thing to watch and even if I had helped him would it really have helped him? I sat a bit longer until a police car had pulled up and the good old blue and red suggested that I went home.
I heard the shot in the distance.
