Hard as it may be to believe, that is neither a humble brag nor a gross exaggeration; it’s a fact. I crawled after an injured fox into a ditch on the side of the road that goes past my house, threw a blanket over it, and pinned down the edges by jumping on top.
I had no idea what I was doing. Not when I pulled the four corners of the blanket together and inverted it to wrap the fox up in a cushiony bundle. Not when I lowered the bundle into a large plastic bin (carpeted with old towels) and untied it. And not during the ten minutes that I stared into its almost toffee-colored eyes before being allowed to move close enough to give it food and water.