As we say here in the backwoods, “She was dressed to nines.” She had bought all sorts of glamour magazines to learn the fanciest dressing a woman could anywhere whether it be our little burg or the big city, which she hoped to visit soon.
Once that big day came, she wrapped herself in in her finest red fox fur and piled into the back of the Greyhound bus for her big trip. She’d never been to the city and at 19-years-old and two-years out of high school she figured she should treat herself before she had to get married, settle down and start raising kids.
After hour-upon-hour of road way and riding, she finally reached her destination. It was more fabulous than she could have ever imagined, as neither radio nor black-and-white TV could do it justice.
As she marveled at the new sights, the unbelievable sounds and the incredible smells, she was accosted by a group of animal rights activists who began taunting, harassing and shouting at her. Without warning one of them tossed a cup of red paint on her as they screamed ‘Animal murderer!’
That’s when the red fox unwound himself from her shoulders and neck and with his gleaming white, but very sharp teeth bared and a guttural snarl, chased those protesters away. He’d always been protective of her like that.