By Sandy Wilson
She saw the fox cubs at the bottom of the garden. Hidden by the dense foliage of the rhododendron bush Jennie watched them play on the sun warmed lawn and felt an odd sense of loss, a primal longing. She wondered if their mother was in the woods just over the fence, watching too.
“Jennie!” commanded the voice from the house, ‘”Come in, Good dog.” As she walked back up the garden path she heard the mournful sound of a hunting horn and the thunder of hooves.