“Don’t eat me yet.”
A late autumn fox looked at the Yorkshire pudding with a new interest.
Was she surprised that the pudding could talk? (Only recently, she herself had been dead and stuffed, but that’s another story….)
As some of you may be aware, one of the immediate consequences of “living again”, is hunger. It just nibbles at you all hours, like ravenous little holes on a gold paper doily.
She was always hungry.
“Why not?” she murmured, eyes like beakers of green lemonade.
The Yorkshire Pud felt herself getting a little hot under the the collar. A real rollercoaster of emotions this.
Being stuck in the middle of road all day had helped her avoid the beaks of birds, but the prospect of being flattened had been a major source of stress. Now she’d narrowly avoided the jaws of the fox. Was this a chance of a lifetime?
“Well,” the Yorkshire Pudding sniffed, then added, carefully,
“Because I can take you places to which you have never before.”
“What can I EAT there?” the fox wondered aloud.
Her travels were mainly scavenge related and she wasn’t hugely fussed. Find and eat, was the rule, keeping an ear out for dogs or other foxes. But she was a little curious.
“Oh, LOVELY food. You’ll feast undisturbed for hours,” promised the Yorkshire pudding. “Just put your paw on my neck and away we’ll go.”
A low hum several streets away could be heard.. An approaching car…
Without thinking, the fox stuck out a paw, placed it on the pudding’s shoulder, and was completely startled by what happened next.
The pudding started to wobble, and within a few seconds, had inflated to the size of a medium bush. A little nudge tipped the fox into the centre dip, and then they bounced off together, gently into the air, with a squashy sound like a comfortable sigh, then a surge of air drove the pudding along with a little wave.
The fox sat bolt upright and peered over the top of the pudding as it rose beautifully smoothly, over the oncoming car, a magnolia tree and phone cables.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” thought the fox.
“Fox, you and I… we’re going places!” the warm, glowing voice of the pudding surrounded the fox as they vanished into safety, undetectable by ground-bound monitors..
A silver car drove into the road. Filled with stagnant water and monster fish, and their driver was a bust of a zombie colonial official.
Between them, they were famished for anything with a pulse, even recently revived foxes, and would have made short work of baked goods – divine or not.
No trace, not a crumb, nor a hair. The car prowled on, concentrating on night scents. Where could they be?
Way, way above, in slow slumber, the glittering void will have a weird dream about a tiny red fox with green lemonade eyes, sailing on a Yorkshire pudding across moon-pecked clouds.
And the paintbrushes say to the void, “What funny things you dream!”
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Written in October 2017.
With thanks to @ludoboi for kind permission to use their fox photos. Please check their Instagram to see their fox story!