The Fantastic Mr. Fox

This story begins two nights ago, when Manchester United was beating Barcelona. As we live near a pub (who in London doesn't?) nights like this can get somewhat crazy and loud, so when I heard some incessant barking, I didn't give it much thought. I chalked it up to a puppy being left outside the pub. I heard the barking again in the morning. This time, I looked around the front garden to see if I could find the dog, but no luck. I forgot about the barking again.

Last night, while watching Kevin being voted off the British "Apprentice," I heard Thing One upstairs, and asked him if he wanted to come down for a bonus hug and cuddle. As he joined me on the sofa, he turned to me and said, "Mom? What's that barking?"

"I know. I know," he said. "I heard it first last night. I had a look around for the dog, but I couldn't find anything."

"He sounds like he's in trouble," Thing One said.

"Well, there's really nothing we can do about it," I said. "I don't know where he is. OK. It's time for bed."

A few minutes later, I heard a "whoosh"-- a telltale sign of a written message from above. (Thing One occasionally sends down letters to us when he really should be in bed sleeping."

The letter, complete with spelling mistakes, said:

"Dear Mom

I cant bare listning too the poor dog. I say we look for it because in the morning the bilders will be here. PLEASE!

Love Thing One"

How could I turn that down? We put on our wellies and went out to the front garden to investigate. The barking got fainter the farther away we got from the house, so I looked down the window well, remembering the time that our neighbour's cat accidentally fell down there. I couldn't see anything, so Thing One ran upstairs to get his torch [flashlight]. We shone it down, and there looking back up at us was a tiny, baby fox. 

Thing One, who always looks on the bright side of life [see below], said to me, "Well, that's good news and bad news. The good news is at least the fox isn't going through our garbage! But the bad news is how do we help the poor fox?"

Thinking that there wasn't much we could do at 10 p.m., I told Thing One that we'd have to leave it until the morning and then I could call someone who would be able to come and help the fox. Thing One returned to bed.

Now we await two things:

1. An opportunity to take Mr. Fox's picture

2. The arrival of the RSPCA, who will rescue the fox for me.

Watch this space.