The male fox looked down. Death was not that bad. It made him feel good, just to think about it—

He carefully stepped across the knots and broken bark, until he reached the other side.


“We’ve got ‘im on the run boys,” the bald hunter shouted. “Keep going…keep going.”

The dumb slobbering female dogs clamored to the cliff’s edge and stopped.

They backed up.

They were worried—even scared.

“Keep going…keep going!” Shouted the bald hunter, but his female dogs were cowards.

They didn’t want to die.

They wanted to sleep-in, eat table scraps, and chase butterflies.

“Damn dogs—you’re useless!” The bald hunter said.

The male fox stared at their confusion with a peaceful smile on his face.

He was not angry that they wanted his hide—it made him feel alive.

A soft breeze blew his stiff red hair, and he enjoyed the wind, the way a dog does when it gets blow-dried at the pet shop. The fox was wild, and preferred a natural hairdryer, because he didn’t like to be handled by fat women who talked to animals all day. They were crazy. If your top 5 friends are a goldfish, a hamster, a fat cat named Theo, and a rattlesnake that’s had its poison removed (supposedly)—well… that’s bound to make you crazy—not to mention, chopping balls off male animals all day.

The male fox shivered, just thinking about it. He didn’t want a crazy female, putting her hands near his private parts. The dogs in society wanted to get their balls chopped off—they asked for it—pleaded for it.

This made the male fox nauseous, just thinking about it—and that’s why he survived.

He never panicked. He always thought things through, and the more he thought about things, the more he was convinced that he could avoid the traps in life.

“Get ‘im! Get ‘im!” The bald hunter shouted, but his female dogs only looked at him, begging to be loved, begging to be scratched on their bellies, begging…

they had no concept of death.

And the late afternoon turns to midnight where the wild things play in the dark…

2 thoughts on “the wild things play in the dark…

  1. Being domesticated, you would have your, meals regular, and your belly scratched, but, being wild, you have the, freedom to, come and go as you please, nobody to answer to, and, at the end of the day, you need to decide, which one weighed, heavier to you: freedom, or the, meals provided, regularly…


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