A single farm dog, lying on the ground in this early, dewy morning. Its ears twitch once, twice, and settles down. The dog doesn't care for its intruder's, or rather the fox's, plans of routinely running around the farm, as the dog felt through the vibrations of the cool earth. For years, the dog could sense the fox meters before itself; in the beginning, excitedly rolling on its back to feel the thrill of the fox jumping over itself, bits of grass and dirt spilling over itself as the fox leaped over and without so much as a flea's size of acknowledgement for the dog. The dog didn't particularly matter, but rather the act of jumping over it.
This none too particular morning, a morning like many others, the dog doesn't move. It lays motionless and dead silent, all the while sentient of its surroundings. Not caring for even its owners worry of whether the dog has kicked the can or not. Of course, the fox would not care for stepping on the farm, much less the dog's sanctuary it established years ago. Right from the horizon, the fox's body starts taking shape. It's sleek body and narrow legs dashing from underneath its musty, orange coat. Like a machine, its legs repeat the galloping-like motion of a horse, and steadily speeds up with each heel that's dug slightly into the cool earth on its course.
Neither of them see eye to eye. Their eyes look forward to the different aspects of life, and their resolutions for these life achievements are strong like titanium. Ever so often and on this morning, Time comes to a gradual halt, desiring to give the dog a chance to love the fox in every way possible. From the way the fox's shadow casts over the ground in a large blog, to where the fox's fur is illuminated by the pastel, morning sunlight. Like the same ends of two different magnets for once facing each other, they repel each other. The dog lazily retreats its head into its furry arms, the more comfortable side of its face buried in the damp, cool earth. Ants and specs of dirt comfort the dog's cool body just before being blown away by the fox's trail of wind. With its head held up high and fresh with exhilaration, the fox leaps boundaries of time as it jumps over the dog. Not a second to give thought to the dog. Blood constantly rushes throughout the fox's body, yet slower than the fox's speed. The fox has to push forward harder, even if can't, even if it doesn't know why it does this. Who even knows, honestly? The fox has never given this thought and won't start giving a penny's worth of thought starting now. You just have to run, and run like you're chasing the light.