Dr. Maren returned with a wildlife rehabilitator on speakerphone. She asked Ava to describe the shed, the creek, and the strange cries she had heard during the storm. Then she asked for permission to send photos of the four darker newborns. Ava waited while the vet took careful pictures. Tiny paws. Narrow muzzles. Dark legs. The faint white tip on one small tail.
The answer came back within minutes. Dr. Maren looked at Ava, and this time there was no softening the truth. “They’re fox kits,” she said. “Red fox kits. Very young.” Ava stared at the basket. The words made no sense and yet suddenly explained everything—the size, the faces, the dry fur, Luna’s frantic scratching at the door.
“Foxes?” Ava whispered. “But why would they be with Luna?” Dr. Maren glanced at the dog, who was still standing by the door despite her exhaustion. “I don’t think anyone put them there. I think Luna found them.” Ava looked down. Luna whined, low and urgent, then scratched again at the clinic door. The rehabilitator’s voice crackled through the phone. “If she brought back four kits, there may be a den nearby.” Luna barked once. Ava’s stomach dropped.