There have been recent reports of people being bitten by rabid foxes — not here, but in a nearby town. This makes me so sad for the foxes, on the one hand, and has also caused me to rethink my emotional relationship to the foxes I (rarely) see in Portland. A couple of weeks ago, I was walking both dogs at night when I saw what was probably a fox across the street (Gus was barking his head off, so probably a fox), and instead of running off like they usually do, it just stood there. Which seemed odd, unless it was maybe a cat.
Not so long ago, I drove past a dead gull on the street. It was on its back with its little bird legs sticking straight up in the air, like a dead cartoon gull.
Even though I had to drive around the block twice and ended up parking blocks away, and even though I had to turn over my debit card to the tune of $100 for flea and tick tablets, and even though I completely forgot to make Theo an appointment for his yearly stuff, I had a great ten minutes at the vet today. Some days, the things that make Portland feel like a small town are so sweet. Todd the receptionist, who's married to Tommy, who owns the cafe where Isaac worked one summer, asking after him. And Ina the receptionist, who's worked at the vet forever and is probably the kindest person on the planet, asking how Gus's joints are doing. Small things.
I started training today for Crisis Text Line, and I feel like I'm in college.
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