Suburban Foxes

     Survival.  Psychic survival.  That is the point of this blog.  Why suburban survival?  Because this is where I live.  I have not always lived in the suburbs.  I grew up in a small town, and then moved to New York City for a couple of decades - where I became a social worker and psychoanalyst.  A few years ago my urban family moved back to Minnesota. We settled in a lovely suburb because it is close to the city, has great schools, and is free of all the intimacy of a small town.  I will call our suburb Plaid.  Oh, that reminds me, I will be changing names of most of the people I talk about in this blog.   Public figures, however, will retain their names – because that is part of my Suburban Survival Kit.

     A fox sauntered across our front lawn the other morning!  I was staring out the picture window, wrapped in a green chenille bathrobe, and obsessing about the location of the rose bushes that were to go in the no-man’s land by the curb. The dogs, who bark at the slightest movement of a rabbit, squirrel or crow, lolled on the floor waiting for their morning cup of coffee.  I ran to the bedroom to wake my husband, Mel – but by the time he staggered out of bed the fox was gone, and he was threatening to buy a gun (for the fox, not me).  At least this time he believed me.  Over the last couple of years I had tried to impress Mel with my sightings of wild things that could be coyotes or foxes, as well as rumors of deer. Of course the gun seemed extreme, and more dangerous to us than anything else – as neither of us knows how to handle such a device.  The suburbs keep getting wilder and wilder.  Who would have thought?  

     Last week I had taken a photo of the front our late 50’s rambler to the St. Paul Farmer’s Market in search of a rose expert.  I had been informed that he would know exactly what kind of rose would survive the piles of snow, ice and salt that gets thrown on to the lawn each winter.  “Foxy Pavement Roses” was the verdict of the rose expert.  So, I was gazing out the window, dreaming of Foxy Pavement roses, when an actual fox ambled by. 

     And the week before there was an article in the local paper about “human resistant coyotes” which were to be eliminated by animal control.  These are the coyotes that will not be chased off by humans, when they are going after their small dogs in fenced-in back yards. Mel has placed a stickball bat by the back door for just this purpose. 

     Anyway, yesterday I was wailing and gnashing my teeth about Michele Bachman’s poll numbers in Iowa, when my sister-in-law said, “she’s dumb like a fox.”  Again, with the foxes.  But I’m afraid it might be true.  How on earth am I going to survive this election cycle on top of human resistant coyotes, voracious rabbits, and insane weather? 

     Today survival is on the top of my mind because Michele Bachman has officially tossed her tea bag into the ring. 

     So, here’s the 411.  My suburban survival kit as of today: for human resistant coyotes - a stickball bat; for voracious rabbits -yards of chicken wire; for salt and snow – Foxy Pavement Roses i.e. a strong constitution: for politics in general - hair to pull, nails to bite; for Michele Bachman - a sense of humor; for tornados - the basement.