The Foxes

It's 1 AM.  Just about an hour ago I fell asleep with the sounds of This American Life drifting in and out of my consciousness.  It was a sad show, or at least what I heard of it.  A mother dying of cancer was trying to preserve her memory for her mentally disabled daughter who tossed the carefully crafted videotape away as soon as she got it.  The next thing I knew I was hearing Ira wrap up the show.  I woke up with the usual melancholy.  It was a new episode for me.  I felt sad for what I'd missed, disappointment that my body had let me down.  There's always something sad about the end of one of the programs, like the end of a great journey or some highly-anticipated event.  Before I knew it I was hearing the familiar "P R I - Public Radio International."  I chided myself for this recurring feeling.

The next thing I knew I was thinking about the polar bear.  How silly I am that he still breaks my heart.  The bear, desperate for food, was then desperately trying to reach the solid ice.  He'd gone out too far into the open waters.  When he finally does find sure footing he's completely exhausted and still just as hungry.  In one last attempt at survival he strikes out at a huge group of walruses, eventually scattering them to the sea where he's stabbed by one of their tusks.  Badly wounded, he staggers back on the ice, lays down, and closes his eyes.

It's just a dumb movie, even if it is a documentary.

I'm six or seven or eight years old.  It's early in the morning and I can't sleep.  I get up and turn on the TV.  HBO is always good for a lark.  Wonder what's on.   A documentary about foxes.  I love animals.  There's a mom fox and a dad fox and some babies.  They're a beautiful, happy family.  The story goes through the mom and dad meeting and then having their babies.  One is born blind and is drawn to the sea for some reason.  It stands on the shore crying out.  Before long, it is lost to the waters.  One of the parents is caught in a trap.  They manage to free themselves, only to use their last ounce of strength to get to the tree where they first met their love and slips away.  I spend the rest of the morning sobbing trying to explain to mom what's wrong.

I've wanted to see that again for the past 20 years, though it's been a while since I've thought of it.  It just came to mind tonight.  I'm so glad that little girl was blissfully unaware of what was happening to the planet due to the actions of her kind.  I don't think she could handle it.  Even today, at 35, she still can't.  She can't let herself really think about it because it truly will break her heart to bits.