The amateur gardener stood examining his plants on a mild summer's eve. He was smiling tenderly and then he had a far-off look in his eye. The garden swelled with dignity and promised beauty.
Suddenly, a small fox came trotting into the garden and attacked the gardener. But the gardener remembered not to panic. He remembered all was just dream. He remembered and he grinned. The little fox savaged him ineffectually and the gardener, he just giggled. A shrill, effeminate giggle. The fox was growing at a hallucinatory rate, becoming increasingly menacing. It drew blood as its teeth sank into the gardener's tender, aged flesh. The gardener continued to giggle with an added note of urgent hysteria. The giggles screamed and the screams transformed into the sudden silence of a corpse. The tender wee fox cub retreated into some foliage to pick at bones. It would be another warm, lonely summer.