Hi friends! Reef the fox here with your weekly “Reef’s Report.” I come to you today deeply wounded. March 28 was supposed to be a day of joy, celebration and endless adoration of yours truly. Instead, my so-called human mother abandoned me at the crack of dawn, 5:30 a.m., to be exact, and did not return until 7:30 p.m. That’s 14 hours of solitude.
Where was she, you ask? Oh, just living her best life with the U.S. Navy Blue Angels, taking the ride of a lifetime in their C-130J “Fat Albert” like some kind of VIP. Meanwhile, her actual VIP (that would be me) sat at home, alone, uncelebrated and without so much as a proper tribute parade. Now, to give the tiniest bit of credit where it’s due, she did take a laminated photo of me on the flight and made sure to get photographic evidence of my greatness among the Blue Angels crew. But let’s be real, a laminated version of me? That’s like getting a cardboard cutout of your best friend for your birthday instead of their actual presence.
I waited all day for a party, a cake, some grand declaration that Reef the Fox, the undisputed king of Key Largo, was turning 4. I imagined banners, fanfare, maybe even a guest appearance from some of my devoted fans. Instead? Silence. Just me, sitting in my enclosure, wondering if my years of dedicated service as a household icon meant nothing.
The only thing that broke the monotony was watching my mother gleefully post about her sky-high adventures while I languished in birthday obscurity. Blue Angels, I see you. I respect your mission. But next time, maybe check in with a certain highly important fox before stealing away my human on the most sacred of days.
So, let this serve as my official birthday grievance filing. I expect reparations in the form of extra Fig Newtons, a formal apology and perhaps a proper celebration, one that does not involve a laminated version of myself standing in for my living, breathing, highly charismatic self.
Until then, I will remain here, reflecting on the depths of my neglect.
Reef, over and out!
