The other day Chris and I were wishing that a fox would come visit us. We were wishing together. Not one of those hard wishes that squeezes your eyes shut; more the quiet kind that travels deep down and makes your insides soft. We knew how lucky, we would be to see a fox. A fox is magic.

But, generally speaking, foxes are shy creatures that go out of their way not to draw attention to themselves. Masters at the art of camouflage, they come and go unnoticed, changing colors with their surroundings. Even their paws are extra furry for quiet passing in the night.

Occasionally, though, foxes go all out to be noticed. They charm their prey into an unguarded state with high leaps, artful jumps and playful rolls, even chasing themselves to look silly. How wily is this? Everything about a fox is aimed at cunning or invisibility, so how would we even see one if it dropped by?

Three nights later, though, we found out. Lying in bed sound asleep, we were both awakened around midnight by a feeling more than a noise. I even had goose-bumps. When brave Chris got up to take a look there was nothing, so we dismissed the vibration as uneventful. Then it happened again, and I told Chris he ought to check his truck bed. And sure enough, there it was—a little silver and grey fox with red markings, digging its long snout into a small yogurt cup.

Before the magic creature could get away, Chris put his camera together in the dark and got a few good pictures—perfect, perfect, perfect for Send-Out Cards. You have to be amazed at the way that shy fellow looked right up at us while he blended into our river-stone driveway. About the only thing he couldn’t disguise was the light in his eyes.