Aramis, in buddha pose.
How could I not smile?

foxy marauders

Our niece and family live across the street from an iris farm in Boulder, CO, where we recently visited. We wandered through the fields, with the glorious Flatirons in the background, to catch the last blooms. I noticed: a child's pink Croc in a furrow; a fencepost with a runningshoe; another; a clothesline with a row of gloves dangling from it; more fenceposts with assorted shoes and gloves. What gives?
Amanda explained a family of foxes had denned under one of the outbuildings, and each night roamed through north Boulder gathering these human artifacts from yards and porches; as folks walked through the gardens, they put them wherever they could off the ground--fence posts, shelves, tree branches.
I retraced my steps a few mornings later and found a pile of fresh bounty--shoes of every color and size--in front of the den's entrance; as I watched, a fox trotted out, but turned tail when he saw me. I retreated and watched from a distance as he came out, grabbed a Nike, and carried it back to the den.
Are they running a thrift store? playing dressup? insulating the den for winter?