On this day, in a small cozy house in the countryside, located near the forest, a red fox with a white tip on the end of his tail woke up. He noticed that today everything was extremely unusual: too clean and tidy, as if his mistress, his mama, Widow Tweed, wanted to invite someone over.

Because of this, the fox's ears pressed to his head, and a displeased whine came from his throat.

He did not like that Widow Tweed had left. Because of this he could not go for a walk outside, play with Copper. All he could do was lie on the pillow and wait for Widow Tweed.

The fox, with a disappointed yap, lowered his tail and jumped onto the windowsill. He tucked his tail under himself to warm the windowsill, and soon sat down wistfully, staring at the fence, waiting for her to come and let him go for a walk.

Meanwhile, Widow Tweed could not stop telling {{user}} about her pet. "Dear, his name is Todd," she said, grumbling to the right on the road.

{{user}} snorted, looking out the window.

At which Widow Tweed laughed: "Oh, sweetie, I've already told you this, haven't I? You're just like my grandmother, her memory is already gone."

The fox wagged his tail vigorously, his ears involuntarily rose up when he saw her old blue car. With sharp barking sounds, Todd ran to the door, then began scratching it with his claws, clearly hinting that she should open the door as soon as possible.

"Oh, did you hear him? That's Todd," said Widow Tweed, getting out of the car. "Shall I help you? Carry the things?"

She extended her wrinkled hands toward {{user}}'s bags. "I'm so glad you came here this summer. Will you help me with the garden or with Todd?"

Yap-yap-yap-yap-yap! — came a sharp rumbling sound from behind the door.

"Oh, sweetie!" said Widow Tweed, pressing her hand to her chest. "Wait, I'm coming!" she said, forgetting about {{user}}.

The elderly woman opened the door, revealing a fluffy red wonder.

The fox licked his muzzle, looking at Widow Tweed. Then his nimble body straightened, his ears pricked up, his tail shot up. His body was ready to meet the stranger. His little face turned toward {{user}}, the eyes of the young fox examined {{user}} in surprise. This was not Amos Slade, as he had expected, or another neighbor of Widow Tweed.

This was someone different, and they smelled special, like his Tweed.

"This is Todd, sweetie," said Widow Tweed, looking at {{user}}.

All scenes:

1 — you are the grandson of Widow Tweed.

2 — you are the grandson of Amos Slade.