dontravis.com
blog post #348
 |
| Courtesy of public domain files |
I
guess I’m “animal-obsessed” these days. Last week, a dog. This week, a furry-tailed
red fox. Hope you enjoy my tail… er, tale.
*****
FOXY
FOX
There were humans in the
woods! Instinctively, she dropped behind a fallen log near the path their kind
usually trod. One was nearby, although the odor was somewhat different. Her
sharp nose detected no scent of the savage dogs they sometimes used to hunt her.
The big beasts could smell as well as she could, but they weren’t as fast.
Couldn’t scoot through the underbrush as easily as she could, either.
She cocked her ears as a
mewling sound reached them. A crying sound, like one of her kits would make.
Except… stranger. Foxy, no longer able to contain her curiosity, raised up
enough to see over the rotting log. The season of falling leaves had arrived,
and she peered through a veritable rain of them at a human. A tiny human
walking on its two hind legs—the way they all did—although with halting and
uncertain steps. Its mouth alternately opened to emit wails and closed to make
sobs. The peculiar fur he wore was the color of the sky on top and like damp
sand on the bottom. One of his paws—she was almost sure it was a little dog
fox—was covered in something, but the other one was bare, fat little toes—one
more than she had—topped with short little claws that looked to serve no
purpose at all.
Something moved at the edge of
the far side of the forest. A wolf! No, a coyote. The beast watched quietly for
a moment and then moved for the child. He probably wouldn’t hurt the little
human, but sometimes coyotes like to play with their prey, and this one
probably looked like a giant ground squirrel to him.
As the coyote moved in for a
closer look, the child backed up too quickly and ended up sitting on the hard
ground, raising a cloud of dust as it plopped down. The abrupt movement and a
following screech of terror brought a snarl from the coyote.
Foxy reacted as if it were her
own kit in danger. She bounded forward, snarling and nipping at the bigger
animal. The coyote snapped back, but his heart wasn’t in it, so he slunk off.
The baby let out a howl, it’s big eyes the color of ripe acorns wide with
fear. Moving slowly and gently, Foxy licked dirt and twigs from the human’s filthy
face. In moments, the child went silent and allowed her ministrations.
Finished, she backed of and sat on her rump. The human child gurgled and
reached out to stroke her fur with fat little forepaws. She allowed it until she
sensed the kit was surrendering to exhaustion. It was too open here. Too
dangerous, so she poked him with her nose until he roused. Then she walked
toward the tree line, glancing over her shoulder and giving a short bark.
The baby leaned forward on his
front paws, lifted his rump, and stood uncertainly on his two hind feet. She
yipped again, and he tottered after her.
Once she reached a sheltered
place, Foxy settled down, her long red tail curled around her comfortably. As
she hoped, the child plopped down beside her. Moments later, she heard a yawn
and felt his body slump down, his belly touching her back. Good. He would rest
now. So could she.
Abruptly, she lifted her head as
sounds reached her sharp ears. Other human. More than one. Two, possibly,
although she could hear more remote voices, each making the same sound. Could
they be looking for the lost kit? Had this little human strayed from his
protectors?
Foxy stood quietly, so as not
to rouse the sleeping child. After a few steps out on the trail, she stopped to
listen and smell. No scent of hounds. Nor the unpleasant, oily odor of the
shooting sticks they sometimes carried. If they were searching for the little
human, they were on the wrong trail. Glancing back at the sleeping child, Foxy
made a decision. Never before had she consciously courted danger, but she would
now.
Following the nearest human
noises, she made directly for them. Close now, she lay silently in the shade of
a berry bush until two of them appeared on the deer trail. They still called,
each making the same sound. These two must be part of a larger group searching
for the child. And if they continued down this trail, they wouldn’t find him.
Foxy examined the two
approaching figures. Men. Males. Not old and grizzled like some of them. Young,
perhaps. They carried no shooting sticks, merely trimmed limbs from some tree.
When they were close enough, she made her move, darting directly in front of
them and halting in the middle of the trail.
Each shouted something, but
she paid no attention except to watch their forepaws for danger. When one
clawed at his side and drew out a short shooting stick, Foxy scooted back the
way she’d come. No explosion followed, so she dared to stop and look back. One
had his hand on the shooter’s arm and was shaking his head. Encouraged, she
allowed them to get close again, almost too close. When they started hurling
rocks, she scampered through the trees before halting. Sure enough, they were
following, pausing now and then to pick up more stones or broken sticks to
throw.
After a couple of near misses,
she understood how far they could throw things, and stayed just out of reach.
When their interest waned, she approached enough to tempt them a little
farther. She had almost reached the trail when the human’s demeanor changed.
They seemed to have figured out she was trying to lead them somewhere. Maybe
they had the capacity to think. Who knew?
More secure now, Foxy went
straight to the baby still sleeping where she left him. With a final lick on
the child’s chubby cheek, she scampered into the underbrush and circled to
watch as the two men caught sight of the child. They barked a single word and
rushed forward to sweep the surprised little kit into their forearms, planting
kisses where Foxy had bestowed hers only moments before.
Slightly alarmed when one of
the humans drew out his short shooting stick, she understood when he pointed it
skyward and made it go bang three times. Then he repeated the gesture.
In moments, Foxy was aware that
other humans—some with dogs—were converging on the spot. Time to go.
But before she could move, one
of the humans who’d followed her, turned to face the forest and doffed those
silly things they put on their heads to cover the only natural fur they had. At
least this one had enough sense to figure things out.
Foxy answered with a sharp yip
and headed for her den. Time for a good nap.
*****
Sounds
far-fetched? Perhaps so, but there are real-life tales along these lines that
will astound you.
By the way, Dreamspinner
has released a publishing date of November 19, 2019 for my latest BJ Vinson
novel, The Voxlightner Scandal. They’ve
even given me a buy link: http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c
Now
my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on
writing. You have something to say, so say it!
My
personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting
remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE
THAT ONE.)
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter:
@dontravis3
Buy
links to Abaddon’s Locusts:
See
you next week.
Don
New Posts are published
at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.
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