In my recent travels I passed a fox lying dead by the roadside and felt compelled to turn back. For a time, I considered keeping him as he was perfect. Instead I carried him a few exits north until I spotted a lovely open area. I sat beside him in a South Georgia field of greens that had gone to flower. I arranged him on a bed of yellow petals and left him, Indian burial style, for the scavengers. In my grieving moment with the fox, I could not have felt a greater love for anything living or dead.