Some photos, because I realized that my first post is basically contentless. These are from one of my last days in Köln. We stumbled on an ersatz fox hunt in the city forest.
After the main show, one of the wet confused dogs, possibly still trying to figure out how that wily old fox had up and vanished, jumped on me and stood with front paws on my stomach, apparently desperate for love and attention. Having love and attention to spare, I started to pet, but a shriveled woman, too old for her years from smoking too many Zigaretten and killing too many imaginary foxes, commanded in a gravelly voice, "Nicht streichen Sie," that is, "Don't pet" (literally, "Don't stroke"). Concerned for the morale of the troops—wouldn't want them to go soft on my account—and frightened by the whips, I stopped stroking, shook off the paws, and ran away.