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She was magnificent, relaxing in the cool grass, her dark red silky hair gently blowing in the breeze. As she stood and stretched, my pulse quickened. She was sleek, slender, graceful, built for speed. Her piercing eyes were bright with a hint of mystery. She was beautiful. Breathtaking. I couldn't look away.

Approaching slowly, I slid my van into park, eased down the window, and nudged open the door.

Shyly, coquettishly, she watched my every move, measuring my interest, deciding if I could be trusted.

I was plenty interested — and I hoped she knew I could be trusted.

It was obvious she had a wild side, but she showed no fear and I felt none in return. She seemed foreign but familiar, surprising but safe.

I moved quietly to the edge of a picnic table, next to the cool grass. She pressed in closer — cautiously, confidently, until I could almost reach out and touch her.

"Do you have anything for me?"

The question couldn't have been more clear if she had said it out loud.

Such a foxy lady. Such an enchanting encounter. I would have given her anything, if only I could.

(I learned later that this fox is a "regular" at the Apple Farm. Employees say she showed up earlier this spring. They think she's an orphan, but has made herself right at home, looking for treats from visitors and almost eating out of the hand of one worker. Munir said she even looks both ways before she crosses the busy road in front of the Apple Farm. Next time you stop by, be sure to say hi to her for me.)