There is this little fox I found. Dying and hurt. Ripped to bits bleeding out. I saved the poor little thing. Picked it up and pampered it. Stitched it up. Gave it love and attention and fed it. Watched it grow. Then one day it ran away. Sadly it was gone. I cared about her she was my friend. Now this is the tragic bit. It comes back scratching at my door. Some times scared some times hurt and in pain. I try to pick it up and I will take care of it. Poor thing. More then any thing I hate seeing her suffer. Then with out warning she will rip in to my hand drawing blood. Does she forget I was there for her. Does she not care after she gets what she wants. She races off leaving me bloodied. But yet she comes back scratching at that door. Crying. I miss you. And I care but honestly after all I did and all we went through I wish I could open that door.. but I know it meant some thing to me. I'm sorry I could not make it all better little fox. I feel like I failed you.