Tim Dowling: is the dog-fox friendship sweet – or a bad omen?

The fox looks at me. You have to go,' I say. But it doesn't move

The dog is barking. I have no idea what time it is - I went to bed late and fell asleep abruptly - but, judging from the blackness on the other side of the window, I'm confident that if I were one of my neighbours, I'd be pissed off.

I sit up in bed. The dog is still barking. My phone says it's 3.30. I pick my trousers off the floor and pull them on, because there are no dangers or demons in this world I am prepared to meet trouserless.