Anyone that knows me, knows I love foxes.
I love the idea of them; the colours and the shapeshifting, slyness, and cunning, that allows them to survive this sometimes-thoughtless world we’ve found ourselves in.
At this very moment, I am sat in my dark kitchen, listening to chirruping barks, pelting out of the local woods. It’s satisfying to hear them again. Foxes used to be a common site here (just as the hedgehogs were) running all over the grass at night, right next to the house. A Vixen, or Reynard, would at some point bring the young out, or tentatively, step out before it’s mate, protectively, to get the eye of the land, before they’d both go off in different directions, almost zig-zagging, in their scavenging. It was a privilege to see.
AND as I write, someone has set fireworks off.
The foxes have gone again. It’s the first time in months that we’ve heard their calls, or even seen them skimming along the edges of the banking. That’s hardly surprising, as at the very least, they know to avoid humans and their paraphernalia.
I expect there will be discarded fireworks everywhere too. Wonder if they’re bio-degradable? Ironic isn’t it?
At this point, it sounds like Beirut out there. Ten o’clock at night and off we go….
Now, not a fox call to be heard anymore. I hope they found each other before the chaos interrupted them.
Man can be Pig Ignorant.
No, excuse that please, it’s an insult to pigs.
The owls are all I can hear now…they may be as disgusted as I am.
Run Mr Fox, go on leg it.
Find your mate in those old dark woods and get on with Life.
One rarely sees foxes here, even though it's semi-country. Once in a great while I'll see one lopeing along.
We hardly know they're around until it's mating season, then it become raucous LMAO!