Morning walk with a fox.

#063

While walking the dogs this morning, we picked up some company along the way. One of the ridge foxes followed us for most of our half-mile loop maintaining her distance, but letting us know she was there through a series of barks and calls.

I tried to make a few pictures with my iPhone, but the dogs were too wound up for it, so when we got home I grabbed a camera and made another loop by myself. This time, she was less worried about me, but still walked nearly the entire loop maintaining a distance of about 20-30 yards and offering the occasional bark as a reminder that she saw me and to alert her kits in the den.

Almost two years ago to the day, I managed to record a short video of some of the fox kits playing near the mouth of the den. They looked like little puppies without a care in the world wrestling and rolling down the hill. I can’t believe how lucky we are to get to witness this almost every year.

I continued my walk, occasionally talking to her and hoping I wasn’t stressing her out too much. Like her, I kept my distance and stopped every twenty yards or so to check in on my surroundings.

A couple of days in a row earlier this week, I saw a fox (not sure if it was this one) carry a chicken down the cabin road toward the den. Everyone’s got to eat, right? I hope the neighbors down the mountain have noticed the weakness in the fence and have repaired it.

We continued our walk out behind the cabin and up and around the ridge. The longer we walked, the fewer barks she produced. I took that meant she was less concerned about me with each step farther from the den.

As I topped the ridge, she got a little closer and I was able to make a picture on the sunny side of the mountain. We stood there for what seemed like five minutes. No barks, no sounds, just studying each other.

I read somewhere a while ago that foxes have adapted to moving their dens closer to homes and structures because of coyotes and other predators. They’d rather take their chances with humans than their larger four-legged cousins. I, for one, am happy to have them as neighbors, but it’s been a rough week for chickens.

I’ll leave you with a poem from Mary Oliver titled ‘Straight Talk from Fox.’

Listen says fox it is music to run
over the hills to lick
dew from the leaves to nose along
the edges of the ponds to smell the fat
ducks in their bright feathers but
far out, safe in their rafts of
sleep. It is like
music to visit the orchard, to find
the vole sucking the sweet of the apple, or the
rabbit with his fast-beating heart. Death itself
is a music. Nobody has ever come close to
writing it down, awake or in a dream. It cannot
be told. It is flesh and bones
changing shape and with good cause, mercy
is a little child beside such an invention. It is
music to wander the black back roads
outside of town no one awake or wondering
if anything miraculous is ever going to
happen, totally dumb to the fact of every
moment’s miracle. Don’t think I haven’t
peeked into windows. I see you in all your seasons
making love, arguing, talking about God
as if he were an idea instead of the grass,
instead of the stars, the rabbit caught
in one good teeth-whacking hit and brought
home to the den. What I am, and I know it, is
responsible, joyful, thankful. I would not
give my life for a thousand of yours.

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- Roger