I awake to magpies eating. Like disinterested diners they pick and peck at the fox's leftovers, pushing the food around on the porch and banging the bowl on the ground. I draw the curtain and watch them scatter. The fox's are suffering according to my dad. Starving and riddled with disease, they can't get at the closed door dumpsters to scavenge their wares. As an ex fox hunter he feels sorry for his former adversary, so now he leaves out a bowl of dog food every night. I know the fox comes because he leaves a narrow trail of flattened grass in his wake. He arrives from the little wood behind the house and his trail becomes a little more defined each day. Other neighbors partake in the feast. One evening we were surprised to see a hedgehog quietly sitting in the bowl. There always seems to be a snail or two lingering in the morning after the magpies leave .
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