The foxes are tuning up on Hampstead Heath; their rehearsal is about to begin.
Reginald is the first violinist. He is extravagantly talented, not to mention very popular with the vixens.
He sits on his chair, tail poking out of the hole in the back, and bashes out a quick arpeggio.
He flexes his paws and looks around, peering back into the mass of assembled musicians. Wesley is there on the timpani and Jerome on the euphonium. Reginald waves hello. Possible post-rehearsal drinking buddies, those two - always up for a trip down to the pond after practice.
Reginald is distracted from these thoughts by the chatter of the choir assembling, choristers greeting each other warmly before going through their complex personalised warm-up routines.
The rehearsal will soon be underway so Reginald settles himself and waits for the conductor, Augustine, to appear.
Tonight, the foxes will play Gustav Mahler's Eighth Symphony in its entirety. It will be note-perfect and exquisitely phrased. Reginald will lead the orchestra with distinction. He always does.
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