Several times since I’ve moved to London I’ve contemplated alternative pets that require less care than a dog. For awhile I considered a hedgehog. Then it was a skunk; de-scented, of course. But I couldn’t get away from the fact that I really just wanted a cute furry animal of the canine variety.

Enter the fox. Last year we had regular visits from a neighborhood fox, including the time it showed up uninvited to our summer BBQ and the day in April when it ate my flip flops. I would see it on occasion on the street outside my building or in the walkway near my old flat. I had high hopes that it would become my surrogate dog, hanging out when it was convenient for me and taking care of itself when I wasn’t around.

But then the fox disappeared. I didn’t see it for months, and I feared the worst. So much for my dreams of having a fox-dog!

But today things took a sudden turn for the better. I’ve been sick all week, so rather than infecting my office with germs as I’m propelled into coughing spasms every five seconds, I’ve been working from home. As I went to heat up a bowl of the chicken soup my boyfriend made for me the other day, I glanced out the kitchen window into the garden. A fox!

There she was, sleeping peacefully in the sun. So peacefully, in fact, that at first I thought she was a dog. What kind of wild animal sleeps in broad daylight the middle of an open garden? A lion, maybe, but certainly not a fox. Maybe she’s more of a fox-cat than a fox-dog. Either way, I’m smitten.

I stood at the window for awhile, taking pictures, texting my boyfriend, and spilling chicken soup down my chin as I tried to eat and photograph at the same time (one of life’s biggest challenges!).

She woke up after a few minutes, looked around, then walked over to an even sunnier spot. She scratched her chin for awhile, sniffed around the garden, prowled about for a bit, then came back to her original spot and curled up for another cat nap.

Hours later, when the sun had disappeared, she sauntered off. I don’t know where she went, but I’m certainly hoping she’ll be back again soon. Maybe I’ll have my fox-dog some day after all!

Being germ-phobic (save for pork products, which I will eat regardless of the threat level of swine flu in London (my last post can attest to that!)), I took a shower with my trusty flip flops on.  No foot fungus for this Lady in London!

At the end of my shower, I stuffed said flops in a plastic bag to keep their moisture from oozing into the rest of my suitcase.  I thought I was being smart.

I wasn’t.

When I got home, I was too tired to unpack, so I left my flip flops inside the plastic bag, which remained inside my suitcase.  The next morning, I took my flops out of the bag and nearly gagged at the overpowering scent of mildew.  Gross.

I immediately took my flops outside to the garden, where I figured I would leave them to air out overnight.  Little did I know, I wasn’t the only one interested in the future of my shoes.  During the night our friendly neighborhood fox, whom I have been trying in vain to adopt as a quasi pet for the last year, took an interest in them too.  A little too much of an interest.

When I woke up the following morning, I looked outside in the garden.  To my Californian dismay, the cloth part of my flops had been severed from its base by the teeth of a red-coated canine and strewn about the garden with reckless abandon.

Holding back San Francisco tears but not able to control my urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of a fox eating my flip flops, I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to order some new ones before summer comes to London.  If it ever does.

In the meantime, I will be wearing my closed-toed shoes and praying for a day warm enough to warrant flip flops outside the arrivals lounge shower room!

The English were quick to pour their characteristic lack of enthusiasm on our excitement about the red-coated creature. Locals informed us that foxes were a multitudinous nuisance in England, somewhat akin to raccoons in my rural Silicon Valley home town.

Nonetheless, our characteristic American optimism supported our intrigue in our furry neighbors. We started spotting foxes foraging for food around our flat at night and jumping up on walls in the early morning hours. The more we saw of them, the more attached we became.

So attached, in fact, that we decided to buy a small water bowl for our garden to see if we could attract a fox or two to be our furry friends. My boyfriend bought such a vessel a few weeks ago and we took a pen to it to label it “FOX.”

There must have been some rumor of our actions circulating throughout the Hampstead fox community, because during the BBQ we had that evening a fox wandered into our garden. We didn’t think it would stay long after it saw a crowd of people milling about, but the fearless crimson creature walked right up to the edge of our lawn and sat down to cool himself off on the pavement.

We wasted no time in filling the FOX bowl with water. As soon as we placed it in front of our new friend, it walked right up and stared to drink as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It didn’t stop there. The fox grew increasingly bold throughout the evening, to the point that it was coming uncomfortably close for some of our friends’ liking.

When our human visitors departed, my courageous (or some might say crazy–there’s a fine line) boyfriend walked out and let the fox lick his cheeseburger-scented fingers. His excuse: rabies hasn’t yet made it to England, so at least he’s safe from that.

As for me, I adore our new vivacious visitor, but I’ll continue to keep my distance. Then again, the fox hasn’t come around again since that night, so maybe there are other fox-friendly Americans serving up better water in nicer gardens. Maybe next time we’ll have to break out the top-tier eau de renard; never underestimate the competitive nature of American animal lovers.