Outfoxed

A tale of rescue

By Cassie Bustamante

Before we had kids, I’d stop for any stray dog I saw. Once, with a friend, I rescued a flea-covered female dog who’d clearly had puppies and been left to fend for herself in a field. That dog, Gracie, went on to become my friend’s most loyal pal, seeing her through moves and devastating breakups. The last time I brought home a stray dog, my husband, Chris, looked out the window at the unfamiliar animal, then pointedly at me, my pregnant belly carrying our first child protruding, and said, “You’ve got to stop bringing home strays.”

And while I did, I still do what I can when I see an animal, especially a domestic one that’s possibly someone’s beloved pet, in need.

So one Sunday morning in June, the spring sun already shining through the green grass, turning its blades a glowing shade of chartreuse, I’m out for a leisurely stroll with my two rescue dogs, Catcher and Snowball. The neighborhood is quiet outside, but the smell of bacon wafts through the air. Almost home, where my own breakfast and French press await, I spy something unusual.

In the front yard of a stately brick house in Wedgewood, a neighborhood that runs adjacent to my own, Starmount Forest, an orange fox, shoulders hunched, and a fluffy black cat are having a standoff. The fox bares its teeth and stares, eyes narrowed, at the feline, whose back is arched.

I watch as they continue to hold eye contact. This is someone’s beloved pet, I think. My wild imagination takes off and I picture a family with small children, dressed in their Sunday best on their way to church, opening their front door to find their precious kitty mangled and left for dead.

My thoughts break when suddenly the cat lunges for the fox. For a moment my worries subside. I should’ve known a cat would be able to fend for itself. After all, are they not domesticated relatives of the king of the jungle, the lion?

The fox backs far enough off that the cat turns to walk away victoriously. And that’s when the fox makes his move. But he isn’t the only one to make a move.

“Hey!” I shout from about 40 feet away. “Leave the cat alone!” As if the fox, is going to say, “Oh, sorry! Right, I don’t know what I was thinking. Toodles.” Instead, the fox shifts its head in the direction of me and my entourage of dogs. Uh-oh.

And yes, I should’ve thought, This animal is a rabid beast — just get you and your dogs home safely. But, nope, I couldn’t get the image of a heartbroken family mourning their beloved cat out of my mind.

My dogs, who’ve been by my side, watching all of this unfold, peer up at me with worried eyes as I yank their leashes and hustle-walk toward home, still a quarter of a mile away.

I pick up my pace, the sound of my sneakers slapping the pavement almost matching my racing heart. Glancing over my shoulder, I keep an eye on the fox’s proximity. He seems cocky but intent, skulking behind us in a quick, yet not rushed, trot. All he has to do is sprint and we’ll become his Sunday breakfast.

Just then, a white pickup truck appears around the bend in the road. Oh, thank God! I think. But the truck passes me. However, when I look behind me, I see that the driver has parked between me and the fox, creating a literal roadblock for the wild animal.

This time, I don’t stick around to see what happens next. Catcher, Snowball and I take our chance to hightail it home to safety. To my hero on a white horse — or, rather, in a white armored pickup truck — whoever you are and wherever you are, thank you. Sometimes, as it turns out, the rescuer needs a bit of rescuing, too.  OH

Cassie Bustamante is editor of O.Henry magazine.