In a restaurant… not sure what kind.

We see a woman with a tamed fox on a leash. A beautiful silver grey fox. It’s sitting quietly and being very well behaved.

I approach the woman to ask if I can interact with it; she says yes. The fox yawns, revealing a puckered, toothless mouth. I look shocked, then look up at the owner, ready to ask if it’s a baby (it doesn’t look like a baby).

“Oh yes, we had him declawed and detoothed”, she says, happy with herself. “We know he’s tame, but I have young kids and we didn’t want to risk it.”

My heart starts pounding in my chest. I look visibly horrified. I try to make the best of it and reach my hand forward to let the fox smell it, hoping that perhaps he’ll let me pet him.

The fox recognizes this and happily tries to move towards me, but without claws, his legs are rubbery and he can’t.

He’s helpless.

I start screaming at the woman. I start crying. I make a scene.

The woman leaves the restaurant, and I immediately wish I’d grabbed the fox and run away with it.

But then, what could I have done? He’d still be disfigured, disabled, broken.

I wake up sad.