Four years little kit foxes, bearing the sharp angular look of underfed and downtrodden foxes, instantly scattered from the road as I reentered my neighborhood, interrupting asphalt gatherings that had followed their nocturnal dashes from dens to seek duck eggs, lizards, and insects. A few months ago the kit foxes began departing leisurely and, instead of disappearing into shadows of adjacent yards, stood in gutters and stared at me. Then last night, for the first time, a kit fox lying in the road refused to move. Evidently, the cocky fellow presumed I wouldn’t run him over and was right. I slowed and moved into headlight-eyes glowing wild like those of an extraterrestrial creature who considered me strange as I did him.