I almost ran over a fox on the way back from karate.
I was going too fast, he was going too slowly, and we were both looking the wrong way.
Looked at the road ahead - clear. Looked in my mirror. Looked at the road: a large, young and handsome fox was standing smack in the middle of my lane, caught in my headlight and with his head turned away from me.
A sharp intake of breath, a dinky swerve to the right while praying that Reynard wouldn't panic and throw himself under my wheels, and we went our separate ways. Looking in the mirror, I was relieved to see that he had changed his mind about crossing the road at that particular spot - though judging by the jaunty way he trundled back onto the verge, I was far more alarmed by the incident than he was.