Once upon a time, the tiny baby fox Dominique lived in a dark forest with her parents and her baby brother. Dominique was the bravest and most curious baby fox of all in the entire forest. She still is today.
I can’t remember how it all started. However, once the character of «Dominique, the baby fox» was born in the mind of our daughter, we couldn’t stop telling her the story.
Before going to bed, she would ask us to tell her another story of the baby fox. I made them up on the spot. Always.
It was easy as I could visualize the fox and its whereabouts. Dominique, the baby fox, was equally real to me as it was to my daughter. Sometimes, I would involve her in the storytelling by asking her a question, thereby allowing her to determine the outcome of the story herself.
«Then she jumps from one rock to another in her attempt to cross the stream. She has almost made it, but then she slips… oh no, can she save herself before she reaches the waterfall?»
«Look! There is a branch of a tree hanging in the water. Can you see it?»
«Yes, she bites into it.»
«… and that is how she pulls herself out of the water.»
«Phew, that was close.»
Dominique would always have an answer to any challenge the baby fox was facing. Both of us would ultimately be relieved about the story’s happy ending and fall asleep easily.
What makes us who we are?
Do we become the person we can see or do we see ourselves the way we are?
Where does imagination end and reality start?
It makes me wonder about Roman, the old and sturdy badger. What has he been up to lately and what is yet to come?
I can see him, so he is real after all.
Why not start telling myself the story of his adventures?