Respect Authority

Here’s a hypothetical question. If you were, say, jogging through a park, and a potentially rabid fox bit you on the arm …what would you do?

Well if you were this Arizona woman, you would run approximately one mile with the fox clamped down on your arm, then remove the fox and throw it in the trunk of your car, and drive yourself to the nearest hospital where both you and the fox could be tested and treated for rabies.

When the fuck did foxes start biting joggers anyway? My singular experience with a fox was at my childhood home in Maryland (doesn’t saying “childhood home” sound sort of literary and sophisticated?) when a fox and her two fox babies (cubs?) lived in our backyard for a week, taunting our dog with their freedom and …foxiness. I suppose I sensed enough danger to not go outside and tempt an attack, but they never seemed particularly interested in snacking on humans.

In any case, this story reassures me that (a), as I’ve said before, the danger factor of running long distances far outweighs the health factor, and (b) in any sort of survival situation, I would most certainly die. Had I been this woman, besides the obvious fact that I would probably be sitting on my couch instead of jogging in a park, and therefore far less susceptible to fox attack, I don’t know if any of these safety measures would have crossed my mind.

The Associated Press story of my fox escape (if there was one, because I may very well have been bit into unconsciousness by the fox and then dragged by my jogging shorts to its family of hungry baby foxes) would involve things like “The young woman screamed loudly, attracting the attention of a nearby park ranger who, in the process of trying to remove the fox from her arm, was punched in the face repeatedly and called a litany of inappropriate names.” At which point I have no doubt my inability to do anything even vaguely mean to any animal would have me caressing the fox as I brought it to my car, where I would place it lovingly in the passenger seat with a seat belt for the brief trek to the local hospital.

Obviously by the time we got there I’d be infected with rabies and foaming at the mouth.