Foxes

October 27, 2024

Till recently, I'd rarely seen a fox around our neighborhood. Though there are coyotes about, and maybe a fox could be mistaken, sometimes, for one. A month or two ago, at maybe 6 or 6:30 a.m., I was on our front step watching over the morning ablutions of our cat, when a fox came trotting round from our back garden into the front. Rounding the corner, as we came face to face, not ten feet apart, it turned and bolted. Hazel, of course, was immediately emboldened, and began to chase after it. Never have I screeched a louder "No!" Cats do know when you mean it; she stopped on a dime. But now we're more cautious about letting her out unsupervised. While coyotes are sometimes on the prowl by day, it's rare; in the past few weeks there have been two separate foxes, and neither of them has looked healthy. One, in fact, was pitifully mangy, and wobbly on its limbs, and clearly dying; we heard, not long after we saw it, that it had died.

The one in this photograph, by contrast, could move normally, and was still fully alert. It held my gaze for a good long while, until I focused my camera on it—at which point, in alarm, it scampered. But the leanness, the ragged coloring? This was not like the healthy fox I saw a month ago. And once again, this was midday, when foxes generally know better than to pay the street a casual visit. I suspect something's going around.

This may be a part one blog; I'll be keeping my eye out for developments in the case. I rather hope there are none. I'm happy to co-exist with healthy, wary foxes; diseased, incautious ones alarm me a little.