Fox and The Hound

I squeeze his hand just a little tighter as we walk in the street. We decided to go out to the farmer's market in a different city than usual. It's farther from home but bigger with a nicer selection. He brushes my cheek before I plant a kiss to the knuckles of his hand. My heart is full of love.

I love this hand and I love the person attached to it. This hand holds me close. Protects me. Nourishes me. Helps me stand back up when I've fallen. I love him so much that I've laid down my arms against my eternal battle against trust and allowing someone to care for me. I've grown and changed in ways that better fit who I want to be. Or at least I hope I have. I've calmed myself to better allow someone into my life.

I've self-domesticated…

I've heard recently that foxes are starting to do that. The lack of wild territory allotted to them and the temptation of warmth and food too strong a pull. I must be something like that, I think. I wanted so badly to know what it was like to be held and protected that I traded it for my wildness. Not to be confused with freedom. No. This hand that feeds would never think to place a leash around my neck. Right? No. I'm safe, I remind my over-eager brain. I'm not trapped despite what the voice in my head says. A product of an old way of life and an old way of thinking that no longer served me in a life devoid of hunting or running.

So why, when my eyes land on a hound that used to chase me, do I get this feeling? A feeling of quickness and longing. Of open fields and possibility. Of fangs around my ankle to catch me… Predatory but thrilling. I remember the chase. The sharpness of it. To feel alive when his breath is on my neck and my heart is racing. Really I should snub my nose up at him. He's beneath me now that I've grown and have a life outside of worrying about love and loss and whether one is the other. He's still him. Still stuck in his old ways. Even wears the same clothes though maybe I do too. …That's the comforting part about people you used to know. They remind you of who you were. Maybe you were stronger, smarter, more beautiful back then. Not likely, but who are you to tell your brain anything?

I look to my new partner. He gives me a gentle smile that tells me it's ok. They are so different. He's got patience, resilience, steadiness, warmth. The Hound has shifty eyes and empty promises and harsh opinions. He's passive where the Hound is intense.

And there's similarities in them, too. The dark hair. The dark eyes. Charming stupidity. Beautiful, perfect smiles.

A smile that would curve the second the Hound smelt blood. The same smile that could mock and jeer. That formed words that brought me such high highs but also such lows. He chased me because he wanted me. Because it was in his nature. Because he loved me? Because I loved him? I can see that love when he smiles at me and it drops when he looks to at my hand joined with my new partner. I hear him say, "You look great!" with eyes that whisper, 'I remember the taste. I remember you between my teeth.' It makes me shiver because I remember too. I can't not remember. It's both exhilarating and exhausting.

Neither of us really wanted me to be caught. Not forever. We both know that. Or I know that and think he knows that. Like most dogs. They just want to chase and have no idea what to do once they have their prey. No idea how to handle when the prey suddenly turns around to face them.

But the hound is just a hound at the end of the day. The hound will only ever offer me a chase. Only ever offer me a moment of excitement and months of checking behind my back. I'll bury myself in my burrow and fear every snarl outside. My leg will ache in the memory of the time that he got too close. And then after the adrenaline wears away, it'll just be me. Alone. Content, maybe, but lonely. So when he says, "I'd love to hang out sometime." I ignore the thrill those words give me and nod as if I agree. I'll exchange numbers even though we both know we didn't delete them. But I'll make excuses to stay home. To stay safe.

My safety breaks away from me for a moment to let me catch up with my hound. That's when he remembers what we were.

"I've missed you."

"You missed chasing me," I laugh. He laughs too and it makes me miss something I don't want.

"You can't tell me you don't miss the fun we had." He leans in closer, conspiratorially. "I can smell it on you."

My face falls, ears sharp, eyes hard. My breath quickens. Prey response. "I can. Whether you want to believe me is up to you."

He crowds me, touching me like he could before. Casually. "Does he chase you like I did?"

I snatch away, wanting so badly not to want to run. "He doesn't chase me. He waits for me."

The hound barks. "So he's not a hound? What is a fox without a hound?"

"I think you mean: What is a hound without a fox to chase? What I am is no longer your business. What you are is up to you to find out now."

My hound scoffs and walks away. Not two minutes later, I'm back tucked under the safety of an arm that's leading me home. I don't regret my time in the woods but I think I'm better suited to my garden.