(their new son is Jacob)

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That night the two families shared a dinner together, the Fox family sitting on the table while the Jets ate in front of them. Conversation from the day transitioned into dinner, so everyone was already talking as they ate. Everyone, that is, accept Ash. Ash knew that some of his dad’s wild spirit still flowed in his veins. He could see that in his attitude, his nature to be rude at many times, and generally, if he was honest, not be that likeable.
He also knew that that was the reason why Agnes hardly liked him, much less wanted a deeper relationship, with him. Ash knew that, but it still hurt. But then, something occurred to him as he ate. Why did he even like Agnes anyway? Because he actually liked who she was, or was it his instincts wanting a mate, regardless of who it was? Perhaps. Suddenly being in the Jets house didn’t seem like a treat after all. There would be a bit of domestication to be done on his part. How did one go about that anyway? Taking away instincts meant a few possibilities to Ash, none of which would feel any good.
Mrs. Fox looked at her oldest son, having just fed some crushed up vegetables to her youngest. “Ash, are you alright?” Ash sat there, stewing, then decided to shake his head. “Come with me.” Mrs. Fox said quietly, politely leaving the table.
Ash shed a few tears as he talked alone with his mother. “I just, *sniff*, I don’t see why I needs to hurt. I should be stronger, like dad.”
Mrs. Fox paused, making sure Ash gave her his attention. “Ash, listen to me. Honey, everyone hurts over stuff like this, and it’s ok too. It’s all part of growing up. Your FATHER felt the same way when we were together. Look at how far you’ve come in the past few fox months, you’re an athlete now, when before you only dreamed of being one.” Ash nodded. He couldn’t disagree with that.
“There will always be someone out there for you, Ash. I know that doesn’t make sense now, but you will when you start a family.”
Ash looked up at his mom, sniffing. Mrs. Fox smirked. “Even if your,” she threw in a quick hand motion, “different. Which we all are.” The two hugged, than Ash went to bed.
Mrs. Fox returned to the table. “Hey, where’s Ash?” Mr. Fox asked.
“He was a little tired,” Kristopherson looked at Ash’s empty table setting, skeptical, “he just went to bed.” Agnes looked down.
“And I don’t blame him,” Mr. Jet said, taking a puff of his pipe, “the little feller has been working hard all day, cutting out that tree.” He turned his attention to Mr. Fox. “Will your friends be here tomorrow to finish the house?”
Mr. Fox nodded, reclining. “That’s the plan.”
Kristopherson left the table. “Excuse me everyone, I’m going to my room.” Agnes looked worried for a moment, then back at her food.
Kristopherson entered his room, and stopped upon seeing Ash already sleeping on his bed. The poor guy was exhausted. Perhaps that led to his more emotional outburst earlier. Kristopherson sat down, crossed his legs, meditating.

Mr. Fox awoke with a jerk, breathing heavily. Mrs. Fox woke quickly beside him. “What is it Foxy?”
Mr. Fox leapt up, still in his pajamas, and took off running. “Their trying to dig us out!”
“What?!” Mrs. Fox yelled, horrified more for the fact that her husband was hallucinating than simply by the insanity of what he was proposing. “Foxy, no!” Mrs. Fox said as she leapt up, running for her fleeing husband with outstretched arms. She finally caught him before Mr. Fox could make it to the children’s room. “Foxy, please! This isn’t happening!”
“Listen!” Mr. Fox yelled, and Mrs. Fox listened. She did hear it. There were the sounds of human heavy machinery outside.
“Foxy.” Mrs. Fox said quietly, putting a hand on her husband’s arm. Mr. Fox shuddered, then looked down.
“I’m sorry. I, I don’t know what came over me.”
Any further discussion was withheld by the sound of the youngest Fox crying, having been awoken. Mrs. Fox hugged her husband than went to attend to her little one.
Being at the children’s rooms, the boys poked their heads out of their room as Agnes did in hers. Mr. Fox sighed. “It’s alright guys, go back to sleep.”
It was pretty close to the beginning of the day, but there were a few hours to spare. Mr. Fox spent those watching the construction going on across the street. The sounds came from a work sight across the street where bulldozers and other machinery took out an old rundown building.
The rest of the day went uneventfully; some of the Fox’s friends came in to finish their house, the Jets went into town, the children found something to do, and Mrs. Fox took care of her little son. Everything was alright, accept for Mr. Fox. He was still wild. Still with instincts, no matter how faulty they may be.
Mrs. Fox came up to him, holding her son. She offered him to her husband. “Here, take him. I’m going to get some sleep.” Mr. Fox nodded.
“Ok.”
The son was handed to Mr. Fox, who looked at him, his son staring up at him. Mr. Fox couldn’t help but smile. “Hey little man.” Mr. Fox walked along the back deck, talking to his bundle of joy.
“You sleep well?” He got a gurgle in reply, “Sorry about waking you up. It’s hard to forget old horrors. It’s by some grace out there we’re here.” Mr. Fox smiled. “I’m glad you can experience what I feel I may never be able to. I mean, I’m wild: unthinking, living by instinct alone, I cuss, I scratch, bite;” Mr. Fox shook his head, “that’s not what I want for you son. Is this odd? Absolutely. Will that stop me? Not a chance.” Mr. Fox felt his eyes get teary, and openly cried over his son.