Ever since the fox pooped my coffee cup, a new world has opened before me.
Now when I contemplate my life it’s in two phases: pre-fox poo and post-fox poo. Gone is the self-doubt, the worry, the voices in my head—replaced by serenity and optimism. Plus, although it’s too early to tell, I think my hair is starting to grow back.
I could die right now knowing my life is fulfilled.
She thinks I’m obsessing. According to Her it was a random event. The fox just happened to poo there and my coffee cup, which I inadvertently left in the garden overnight, just happened to be under it.
My pre-fox poo self might have been defensive or even angry, but my new insight makes me tolerant of such base human emotions as fox poo envy.
I forgive Her. I’m not angry or defensive and I’m definitely not obsessed.
I Googled fox poo in coffee cup and got 2,900,000 entries. It took me a long time, but I checked out each of them and not a single one mentioned fox poo actually in a coffee cup.
There were, of course, several entries concerning the famous civet cat poo coffee, but not civets pooping right in the cup.
Civet cat coffee sells for 50 bucks a pop. I guess I missed my chance to brew up my fox poo and possibly open a new money-making venture. My pre-fox poo self might regret it, but my post-fox poo self is not concerned with such trivialities as fame and fortune.
I believe I’m the first person in history to be so blessed. Where in all the literature is it mentioned? Not once.
In all those old English fox-hunting songs is there a chorus that goes: The fox, the fox has pooped in my cup. Yo ho, yo ho? No.
I could be in The Guinness Book of World Records under the heading number of times a fox has pooped in one’s coffee cup, and there I would be: Roy Ness – once.
So who is my new self?
I’m a guy who has been granted a precious gift, a deep connection with nature. It’s inter-species communication through the medium of poo.
Many animals use poo to communicate: dogs, cats, lions, hyenas. Not humans. What do we do with our poo? We shun it, flush it away before any message can be deciphered.
I intend to change that.
Why me? Why am I the chosen one? I can’t answer that question (yet), but I feel compelled to share my good fortune with the world.
I’m planning a tour like one of those self-help gurus. I’m going to take my message to the people down south, maybe even as far as Watson Lake.
She thinks I’m nuts, that I should get over the fox poo and get to work on the new house we’re planning to build—or were planning.
Now that my life has taken a new direction, a house seems beside the point. Now I could live in a cardboard box (as long as it’s got satellite TV).
Enough about fox poo in my coffee cup. After all, I don’t want to seem obsessive. It’s time for my gardening tip of the week.
I suggest placing coffee cups around the garden. I do—lots of them.
I even had to dig out the Christmas mugs when I ran out of the ones from the kitchen.
Predictably, She pooh-poohed the idea, so I pointed out that coffee tastes just as good from a beer mug.
Hmmm. That gives me another idea.
Roy Ness is a writer, actor and comic who normally uses a hoe and a rifle to keep his food insecurities at bay.
