The One That Got Away 2.0 — — Attack of the Desert Bread Fox, Casa Sirica, Shipwrecks, BCS, Mexico
“Pancho needs your prayers it’s true/Save a few for lefty too/He only did what he had to do/And now he’s growing old”
To describe my digs at Shipwrecks Beach the Mexican/Spanish phrase “casa muy rustica” is only the first point of departure. Planet Mose Shipwrecks is a small rundown casita loaned to me by an old friend from Connecticut. (Though it is a step up from the original Planet Mose which was a crumbling squat back in the desert) It has everything a wintery desert dweller needs: Solar electricity (minimal) hot shower, flush toilet, enclosed bedroom/writing studio and an outdoor kitchen.
It is the kitchen that has become so attractive to the local fauna.
For sure you are not going to keep the desert field mice out of anything. With most of the mice-eating snakes deep in their burrows for winter hibernation, the warm blooded, rubber jointed, wall walking field mice have the run of the local planet. They can virtually squeeze themselves flat and get through the tiniest of openings. They are impressive omnivores. But their acquired addictive taste for Skippy peanut butter has been their downfall. I’ll explain sometime how to build a plastic bucket, wire-strung- rolling-coke-can, PB-baited mouse trap; you can net up to ten-mice per night. Great if you have a keen taste for mouse-roll sushi….(no-no I’m not that desperate…not yet)
But in the last two weeks the outdoor kitchen has been the focus of a much more interesting, elusive, and clever predator. I, actually, had no idea she even existed: The Desert Bread Fox.
The mystery began after I had been here one week and had the opportunity do to some hefty grocery shopping. I bought all the usual stuff. Tortillas (maize), black beans, brown rice, farm eggs, canned milk, tomatoes, an onion, jalapenos, problanos, peanut butter and jam and a good-sized loaf of Bimbo Pan Intigral (sliced whole wheat bread).
As I am a clever and experienced desert dweller, I hung my perishable foodstuffs from the ceiling in wire baskets and placed the dry goods in two pest-proof containers: 1) a defunct boat cooler (extra large) with a stout lid and 2) a plastic cargo box, bright yellow also with a tight lid.
All ship shape and ready for breakfast. I turned in early to get a good night’s sleep.
Ah…I said to myself in my bleary dreams, What is that scratching thumping sound? Only the ocean waves breaking on the beach? A distant rumbling of rain? The sound of someone in my kitchen? Yikes!
I woke up sometime later with the old-man’s desire to pee in the night. Glancing at the outdoor kitchen as I walked by, I noticed the boat cooler somewhat askew. Flashlight shining. Boat cooler slightly open. Further investigate. All is well. Everything in order….nothing missing…
Except that when I went to make breakfast toast for my eggs and potatoes…..Where is my Bimbo bread?
Nowhere, is where it is.
I’m not as dumb a human as I look (or appear on the page). I soon realized someone stole my bread.
No worries. Soon another trip to town. More groceries. This time a nice loaf of French bread from the La Comer (Mexican grocery chain). And another loaf of Bimbo for sandwiches.
Soon another sleep-full night. The bread stored securely in the yellow plastic cargo box. A cement block placed on the lid. More rumbling dreams. This time with a crash.
Morning light. Cargo box on it’s side. Two loafs of bread missing.
Okay FINE! I can deal with this. I have the perfect solution: I’ll stop eating bread.
Well…I only last about a week and then I am there at the Chedrui (competing Mexican grocery chain) and they have an artisan bakery right in the store and they’re baking sourdough whole wheat loafs, and a killer baguette with poppy seeds crusting the outside…..
Home again home again. I put both loafs of this precious bread in the boat cooler and before I go to bed I screw the lid down with three inch screws and a cordless drill. So far, the only mistake, I leave the drill on the countertop.
Ah the bliss of dreaming sleep. The soothing sound of gentle breaking waves, the sand humming as the ocean flows back, the chirping of geckos and then WHAT? The sound of a cordless drill?
I wake suddenly and sit bolt upright in my bed. NO WAY!
I rush downstairs and just as I make the kitchen I see the last little bit of a bushy tale disappear in the night.
NO WAY! I look to the kitchen. The drill is down next to the boat cooler. One screw is slightly out.
But, thankfully, my bread is secure. Phhhheewwww…..
So, obviously, a new solution quickly presented itself.
I took my bread to bed with me. It now sleeps securely between the sheets with one of my arms draped lovingly across it’s crusty shoulder.
And in the mornings I still wake early and as the sun rises I go climb onto the top of my pilla (large water tank), do my morning yoga salutations and meditate on my inability to give up bread. How blissful.
Only yesterday morning as I sat in meditation overlooking the prime desert landscape to the southeast, I heard, through the sound/nonsound of my mantra, a scurry–scratching next door. I stepped back for a moment from the oneness of everything, opened my eyes and in the faint morning light I watched as a pointy-nosed, bushy tailed, red fox loped out of my neighbor’s open kitchen. She quickly disappeared into the desert, but not before she grinned quickly at me, her mouth secure around a fine, fresh Mexican boleto (hard roll).
What can I say? We share the same addiction. So I just smiled back and gave her a little wave.
But now, at night, I securely lock the door to my bedroom.
