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The Fox
A short, true story of man's persecution of the beast. |
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The Fox
A short, true story of man's persecution of the beast. |
From my bedroom window, or better still the roof, I could see four young foxcubs playing outside their earth, their yappings and antics warmed me up as I was renovating my farmhouse. It was spring. I had gone to their earth only once; judging from the size of the trampled play area, entrance and overall seclusion, it appeared to be an old badger's sett left over from the days of the small fields (only four years ago).
I remember startling the parents - or did they startle me - during the winter months whilst rummaging be candlelight in the cowshed for food for the Rayburn, and they were rummaging about looking to feed themselves. It happened a few times until the learned I didn't keep any animals and was mean with the rubbish.
One morning whilst walking to the village I saw four young foxes tied to a gate, quite dead. A farmer had obviously found them a threat to his well-being, to his hundred or so acres, it surprised me he found the time, it would have been quicker to fence his chickens, after all there's probably a grant for it. Over the following month I could hear the vixen wailing, a noise I had not heard before, sitting out in the open wailing and then waiting. At one point I was crouched down, 50ft away, watching her and she did not notice. I used to see her zig-zagging frantically across fields, her nose to the ground, chasing the old cub scents.
The vixen stayed around and started to hunt again as normal and months went past. In August I saw a trailer parked near the earth. Upon closer surveillance I saw a farmer laying traps - now apart from being disgustingly inhuman, it is also against the law. Since I have to live in this valley, rather than report the farmer to the police, the traps got mysteriously triggered and once more I thought - time to lay the traps, time to bring them in, plus time spent in looking through 100 acres to find the earth - what's wrong with chicken wire and shutting doors.
However, two weeks ago the bastards came, with trumpets blaring and hounds howling; with their polished leather boots digging into polished leather horses; with their blood-red tunics and dazzling white trousers. Scores of hoofs clattered and thumped on the ground. The noses of dozens of dogs sucked at the earth as they raced along. The cattle stampeded with fright. Feeding birds took to the wing. Sheep huddled together. The entire countryside was thrown into panic. Yes, the humans were hunting a fox.
A pack of about ten hounds charged through my yard, through the vegetable patch,and were gone just as quickly. This panic went on for some hours until the hound-master chose a field in which to group the hounds. This brought the dogs back in one's and two's and also brought a strange reaction from the cattle: if a returning dog came too close, small groups of cattle started to charge straight at it with their heads down, pretending to be grazing (clever really). One dog wasn‘t's quick enough finding a way through the hedge and a bull caught him square in the ribs. This added a different tone to his howling and he pretty quickly made a way through.
As for the fox, she was up and away at the first sign of commotion - I doubt if she will return - gone to be persecuted elsewhere. I dare say there will be many not so lucky that will end up being ripped apart alive between the salivating jaws of the pea-brained pedigrees.
What a hard time! She's just trying to take what she can to humbly survive. Why is this disgusting persecution allowed to persist? I'll tell you. FEAR. If that's too deep for you let me just say humankind is still a predatory animal. It's as much afraid of the fox stealing its property as it is of its bank manager. Quick to judge, quick to anger, slow to understand. Ignorance and prejudice and fear walk hand in hand.
The fox is acutely aware of its surroundings. Its highly developed senses make it difficult to approach other than upwind. When being hunted it will double back on its tracks, climb trees, take to water, or mingle with sheep to conceal its strong musty smell. The fox plays a large part in folklore; one story tells how it defleas itself: taking a twig or piece of wool in its mouth it backs slowly into water thus forcing the fleas towards its head and onto the twig or wool which is then dropped. The fox is a night hunter eating rats, mice, voles, squirrels, rabbits, hedgehogs, frogs and ground birds such as partridge, pheasant and carelessly kept domestic poultry.
To ensure some sort of balance is achieved, these are the things I intend to do and I hope you will join me.
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