Now, I’d heard of foxes with mange, poor stinking, sickly things with uneven tufts of fur, obviously sick. This one moved at a brisk trot, pausing to sniff at the road, at the air. When it saw me it stopped short. I stood stock still. Apparently satisfied that I was no immediate threat, the fox went on it’s merry, yet, unattractive way. My son suggested that maybe it wasn’t even a fox.

Large pointy ears, thin pointy muzzle, the size, the shape – all except for the lack of its distinctive fur, this was a healthy yet ugly fox.

Dashing to the Web, I found that it could have been a chupacabra, a Tasmanian wolf without stripes, or one of those unnamed monsters occasionally found lying by a ditch in a slimy fetal position. After wading through all the nonsense, I learned that a rare genetic disease called Sampson’s inhibits the growth of guard hairs, the beautiful fluffy coat that gives a fox such unmistakable panache.

But, if it’s so rare, how come there are so many reports all over the country? The chances of seeing some rare creature be-bopping up my street struck me as pretty far-fetched.

Perhaps the mild winters we’ve experienced lately allows the Sampson fox to live through seasons that in years past would have killed it. Maybe we’re not seeing a freak, but a new kind of fox, a genetic mutation. Global warming has brought changes to the east coast, including the well documented northern expansion of brown pelicans, a real thrill for birdwatchers.

I welcome foxes to my neighborhood, glad to see a predator to dine on rats, mice, and our recent plague of baby bunnies. I love nature, enjoy the incursion of hawks and owls to the suburbs. But of all God’s beautiful creatures, why do I get this pathetic, postapocalyptic freak?