The Fox Dish

I grew up on 14 acres of land. We had a semi-circular driveway with 34 pine trees in the middle.

Since then I've lived in surburban neighborhoods. I've lived in cities.

I've lived in big houses and studio flats.

The variety has been great

Currently, I'm living in a cleverly-designed studio which seems like a one bedroom in a large house in a Swiss village of just under 3000 people. It has Roman ruins, mansions, a château or two, farm fields, and forests.

When we go out our door, there's a garden boasting plants, bushes, a plum and mulberry tree. Sherlock, when back from a walk, with a bit of leftover energy will do zoomies before asking to go inside.

He has one stop, however. 

He checks out the fox's dish. 

Our landlady feeds the neighborhood foxes. I'm not sure where in the nearby forest they live or how they discovered this wild life restaurant.

The dish is small. It may hold a few meat covered bones or other left overs. The food disappears overnight.

I do know that my dog has no need to sample the meals that the four-legged red neighbors have been offered. I'm sure Sherlock would be unable to fend for himself if he lived in the wild where there is no ice cream as a special treats