Village Squire, 1975-11, Page 9A Win for the Wild Ones
A short story
by Robert Laidlaw
Illustrations by Sheila Folkard.
In the first morning light the two foxes slid over the shoulder of
Sutherland's Hill. They followed the old concession road riddled
by washouts and no longer used. It was late in February, the
snow had a brittle crust that carried their dainty paws without a
foot print showing. Though looming almost as large as collie dogs
in the uncertain light they weighed only as much as good sized
cats, the dog fox a little more than the vixen about twelve pounds.
They moved like shadows on the white snow, the female rich
orange, the dog darker, both still sleek and full furred.
The Maitland river valley spread out before them, the river
half a mile away. No barns or houses marred the illusion of a
wilderness. This small area between hill and river had been
cleared and settled once. Now it had gone back to nature, a
refuge for the wild animals contending for a place in the fat farm
lands of Huron County.
Down the gentle slope their trot became a lope, the day was
growing; it would be just as well to reach the river and the hide
out before full light. It had been a successful night's
hunt...several mice and a rabbit shared courteously by the dog
fox for he had caught the rabbit.
A month ago he would have thought it ridiculous to share
anything he had caught. His short life was still less than a year.
There had been the time confused now in memory when he had
shared a den with four brothers and sisters. His mother and a
genial father had supplied his wants. Then there had been a
rough time. Mother and the rest of the family had disappeared
and he was on his own...barely able to survive. In an isolated
pasture field he had found mice and some stupid young ground
hogs. They had tided him over a tricky period. His first ground
hog had been as large as himself and the battle long and fierce for
ground hogs back up from no one in a fight. Wiry muscles and a
ferocious appetite had won the day. It had been easier then, but
never too easy:
He had met this intriguing companion that he ran with now a
month ago. At first it was a wary acquaintance, he thought it
might have been one of his sisters but she didn't act like a sister,
not quite so bossy, even amiable at times. They shared a
somewhat snarly friendship for a time. Hunting as a pair proved
to be effective. They worked out a system whereby one fox would
stage a demonstration on one side of a brush pile and a rabbit
could very well come out on the other side. When he caught a
rabbit for the first time in this way it was briskly taken away from
him. Sharing, he found, did not take place until this confident
female creature was not too hungry.
They reached the hideout, a pile of river debris still some
distance from the banks.
There was a jumble of logs, branches and shattered lumber,
board, planks and.broken scantlings. There was a fancy whiskey
beer bottle, and a sign that said Listowel Dairy. All this was
partly covered by grass and reeds. Underneath was a cozy dry
spot where rain never reached.
Some bits of rabbit fur and partridge feathers lay about. They
were quite snug here and reasonably safe; the cluster of
hawthorn trees that had caught the debris discouraged two
legged intruders. •
The female was the older of the two, she would reach two years
"...Fixing his gaze on that one spot he saw the fox den."
in the coming spring. Born late in May she had not matured
enough to find a mate and have a litter the past season. As a
result she had led up to now a care free life. Her puppy year had
been routine, there were no accidents or tragedies, she had just
drifted away from the family and found this comfortable retreat.
She had been shot at and frightened by the zing of the bullet
flying off a rock and the vicious crack of a rifle. Fortunately for
her she connected the two sounds with the odd-looking creature
some distance away. She avoided these unnatural beings
afterward, there was something wrong about them, their scent
usually repulsive.
The male though younger had more experience. He had been
shot at and chased by dogs. Some heady work on a rail fence had
savedhim once and there was a time when desperate he had
climbed a tree squatting in a crotch until the dogs gave up.
Humans and dogs by all means should be avoided.
The warming sun of March melted the snow and the blood ran
faster in their veins. They ranged far up and down the river
keeping close to the cover of trees, the willows, cedars and spruce
that grew on the banks.
The female was more restless now, unpredictable in moods,
the male following closely never letting her out of his sight. She
tolerated him as a rather stupid fellow who might be useful later
on. Living was better, ground hogs were out though they were
thin and bony, quite often a muskrat could be caught away from
the water. All the wild animals were on the move in the grip of
this spring fever, the urge that must be obeyed.
When the ice went out there were many of the two legged
creatures along the river. They carried iron things that they put in
the water along the bank and sometime muskrats got caught in
these things. They would have made an easy meal but it was too
scary. All around these places was polluted with human scent and
that other strange odor of steel. It would be as well to keep away.
They left the river with the vixen in the lead. She led the way
all the time now, erratic in her wanderings. The male followed
confused and abject at times, full of a strange excitement.
• VILLAGE, SQUIRE/NOVEMBER'197S, 7