He's alone, I think, not part of a pack, which isn't an easy life. Some mornings he's here at sunrise, tucked into a furrow left by plows that cleared the firebreak a few years back.
It's conservancy land, thousands of acres, and the little cottage sits at its very edge. There's an eight-foot fence between us and believe me, I'm grateful.
On this morning last week he had his back to us, facing the hills, but just as I lifted the camera, alerted by scent or sound or maybe both, he turned.