We currently do not have the resources to provide updates about individual patients but we tell finders that they can text us, from the same number they originally contacted us from, to inquire about the animal they brought. Please be advised that these inquiries may get a delayed response since our most immediate attention goes to the emergencies we respond to throughout the day.

We operate via text for many reasons. 1) It’s much faster and allows us to respond to multiple situations as quickly as possible. 2) Texting allows us to have a record of the conversation/situation you’re contacting us about. When there are 10-20 texts coming in each hour, the ability to have this record is invaluable. 3) Texting allows us to focus on caring for our wild patients when they need it most. Administering medications, feeding, preparing food, cleaning pens and doing intake exams are all tasks that require our focus to complete in an efficient and effective manner. We check text messages very frequently, between animals, between pens etc. 4) WE NEED A PHOTO OF THE ANIMAL and a phone call doesn’t allow for this.

It was not a time for human dignity. It was a time only for careful observance of amenities written behind the stars. Gravely I arranged my forepaws while the puppy whimpered with ill-concealed excitement. I drew the breath of a fox’s den into my nostrils. On impulse, I picked up clumsily a whiter bone and shook it in teeth that had not entirely forgotten their original purpose. Round and round we tumbled for one ecstatic moment. We were the innocent thing in the midst of bones, born in the egg, born in the den, born in the dark cave with the stone and ax close to hand, born at last in human guise to grow coldly remote in the room with the rifle rack upon the wall.

But I had seen my miracle. I had seen the universe as it begins for all things. It was, in reality, a child’s universe, a tiny and laughing universe. I rolled the pup on his back and ran, literally ran for the nearest ridge. The sun was half out of the sea, and the world was swinging back to normal. The adult foxes would already be trotting home.

A little further on I passed one on a ridge who knew well I had no gun, for it swung by quite close, stepping delicately with brush and head held high. Its face was watchful but averted. It did not matter. It was what I had experienced and the fox had experienced, what we had all experienced in adulthood. We passed carefully on our separate ways into the morning, eyes not meeting …

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