by Susan Dietrich

Created on: January 19, 2009

Summer Walk

Every evening I have the chance, I walk my small dogs, Lucy and Taffy, up around the loop above my house, up into the wealthy neighborhood on the cliff overlooking the prairie to the west. This loop only contains 15 or 20 houses. There isn't room for more. That's why we love it up there: few houses, few cars, few people. It's cool and quiet on a summer evening. The stars blaze supernaturally on a dark night, and on a moonlit night everything is cast in mystic silver.

Usually, Max, my giant long-haired yellow cat, tags along unleashed behind us, sneaking in and out of bushes, plopping down intermittently for a breather, then jumping up to continue tagging along open-mouthed, tasting the night air, glancing nervously over his shoulder as he tip-toes quickly along behind us.

We're always rewarded with a glimpse of some form of wildlife. Once we saw a huge bird take flight out of a big old cottonwood tree, and following it to its landing spot in another tall tree, we identified it as a great horned owl. We see cottontails and jackrabbits, an occasional snake or toad; and often a skunk will rapidly make its way along an alley, tail bolt upright, bouncing along like a trophy of fearlessness.

Last night we saw the fox. It peered at us from the edge of the cliff in front of a big log delineating the circular asphalt driveway from the prairie wilderness. It stood on tall skinny legs, probably a foot and a half high. Its body was not much thicker that its legs, anorexic, as it were, with that unmistakable, preposterously huge, long bush of a tail streaming out behind. When it realized we were standing there staring, it jumped over the log as if to dart down the cliff to safety. But no, seconds later its head popped back up for another look at us, and there it stayed, staring just as intently back at us, with a sort of innocent curiosity, a wonderment worthy of a carefree child.

Tonight we retraced our steps, hoping against hope that we might luck out and thrill to the apparition again. Along the way Max's furtive over-the-shoulder glances seemed more pronounced than usual. He had reason to fear, and he knew it. Still, he stopped to rest occasionally and would therefore lag dangerously behind.

I began to picture the fox stealthily creeping behind us, well-hidden in the bushes of the luxurious yards, easily clever enough to escape our domestic eyes and ears. It would literally be a snap for him to grab Max by the throat and carry him off to his den for a feast of

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