When a Fox Gets in Trouble, It'll Find a Way to Let You Know

Shy, but intelligent and emotional animals.

Rocky, the fox, is getting spoiled. And bold. I knew that was going to happen. That's a fox for you.

"What is it now, Rocky?”

"The bowl is dry, and I am thirsty," he says with that sorry-butt look they always give you.

"What?!? That's impossible. I just filled it an hour ago!"

"You don't believe me? then go look."

“I definitely will, I said, walking towards the thing.”

"What did you do with it, Rocky?"

“Not me; I saw some 'coons carrying it away. They're thieves, you know?

"Why would they carry it away if it was empty?"

“I don't know, but that’s what I saw, and I'm really thirsty. Besides, it was already warm.”

“Ah, okay. So you'll like to have water on the rocks, Rocky?”

“Yes, please. And make sure it's not in the metal containers. Those get the water warm too quickly.”

I'm dying of laughter inside, but I can't let him see that.

"Is there anything else, Excellency?” I asked respectfully.

“Oh, ok... sure! Some bacon? yummy bacon? He says, pleading with "the eyes."

That should be his nickname, "The Eyes," instead of Rocky.

It's so funny because they are serious. We humans would be too self-conscious, but not them. They mean what they say, and they say what they mean.

Maybe that's what I admire most about these wild animals—their pure innocence. They don't know how to lie. Or pretend.

"Ok, no metal. Got ya. I'll bring you the one made of clay."

"Thank you, kind sir, and the yummy bacon??"

At that point, I decided to chase him away for fun, like I always do when he becomes too smart-assey.

As he runs away from me, he shouts, "Just a touch, not a lot!" Not a lot!”

I turned around, laughing, but I told him I had heard him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll bring you some of those stale treats. You beggar!"

"What's that, “stale”? A new flavour?"

"Never mind, just be quiet and don't cause trouble. I'll be back."

Rocky was the first fox I've ever encountered since we moved here to the boonies.

He was a friendly little guy, and he sealed my heart with him in no time. But then, he started introducing all of his family and friends one by one. Impressive, really, since they didn't want anything from me. It looked like they just wanted to know what I was like—the new human in “town.”

Foxes are even more curious than raccoons, if that's even possible. And these guys were no different.

About six of them visit frequently to say hello and grab a few treats that I offer like a good host. Then, as quietly as they come, they leave. I have no complaints against them whatsoever.

And they're beautiful to watch.

I consider myself super lucky that, so far, all the wildlife is getting along. Most likely, they are already quite familiar with each other. They have their permits and limits. They are so much smarter than some of us give them credit for.

I'm back with the water as I hear a rumble in the distance. Rain is not alien to these parts during the early spring, so I'm not surprised. Neither are they.

"Cold water in a big clay bowl, sir!" I announced, like the server I've become. “And bacon stripes.”

His eyes went wide with anticipation. He cautiously walked towards the goods I left in the corner of his forest.

Before I could turn around and look, three desperadoes were drinking from it. I caught them out of the corner of my eye.

He wasn't kidding. It's a hot day, alright. And if it rains, it'll get hotter.

I always make a point of providing water for all wildlife. I do this in enormous fountains, bowls, and bird showers.

They forbid us from having the automatic grass sprinkler on for more than an hour daily. But I push that for three hours. It's for everyone's enjoyment, especially the dogs.

On overly hot days, that makes a huge difference for these creatures. Seeing them jump, roll, and play with grace is comforting. They do it with each other. It's a sight that one doesn't forget easily.

It was one of those stormy days. Tornado warning sirens were going off. People were running all over in preparation. Then, a terrifying event happened. Rocky, who came to my door for the first time, told me he was concerned about something. He'd never done that before, so I knew to act rather quickly.

When I opened the front door, he took off in the direction he wanted me to follow. Few animals can run as fast as a fox. So, he kept coming back so I could catch up. But then he would run fast again until we both got to the destination.

A hole in the ground that used to serve as a water reservoir is now out of use but has an occupant. It was one of his kids, or two, I couldn't tell. Exasperated, he wanted me to help quickly before they drowned. Seeing the urgency, I used the rusty and old metal steps and lowered myself to almost the bottom. I forgot my flashlight in such a hurry, so I had to go back up, much to the incomprehension of Rocky.

I got the light out of my coat, and down the hole I went again. Rocky's barking didn't help me or my ears. It was especially bad in that small space. But it reassured the little ones that he was there to help. And he brought over his human for assistance.

When I finally saw what was happening, I sighed in relief, as the water wasn't going to drown them. Two cubs felt scared. I tried to soothe them by mumbling something softly, but that didn't do much. It might even have upset them more—it's hard to tell.

The problem is that, first, you can't get bitten. That's definitely not wanted. Second, I don't have a way to bring them up. The only thing I could think of was to go back up, get back to my place, and make a plan.

Will Rocky let me? Probably not. I'm already imagining him blocking my way, barking and whining. He'll think I won't help and abandon his kids there.

But I need a rope. At least a rope, perhaps some hooks or even pulleys. This whole thing is beginning to look like an extremely complicated operation. I'm screwed. So are the cubs, and Rocky is getting more anxious by the minute.

I could call for help, but how? To whom? Everyone is already freaking out because of the upcoming storm; they will surely laugh at me if I ask.

I decided to keep going lower and shush them softly as I talked nonsense to calm them down. "Shhhh....Shhhh...Shhhhh. It's alright, Shhhhh..." was my best calming technique for foxes. I believe it worked.

So, I'm inches from them, and they're fine. I kept going down slowly. Before I knew it, one climbed onto my trousers for dear life. Then the other did, too, soon afterwards.

I'm still holding the rail, but now I have double occupancy clinging to my pants. They hold on to the only thing alive besides them.

It's good that, although wet, they weren't too big or heavy. All I need is the strength to go back up with the extra cargo.

I won't lie, wetness makes one much heavier, so my first steps upwards were difficult, but my goodness! The higher you go, the harder it gets. Newton's gravity.

They held so tight as if they knew it would be all over if they fell down.

I don't know how long it took me to get up there, but it was far from the few seconds it had taken me without them.

Rocky gave us the most sensational welcome ever, jumping and barking his ass off. I just collapsed on the grass, exhausted. But quite proud.

The gust had picked up considerably, but none of us seemed to care. The fresh blast of wind on my face was a refreshing touch, and so were the sprinkles of rain.

As luck would have it, it started pouring rain minutes after we reached the ground above. I did my best to hurry back to the house.

Rocky took his pups to the tree, which was their cosy home. We were all pretty beat; we fought, and they grabbed tight, but we all survived that dire experience.

It could’ve been so different. It could have been awful.

The lighting became heavy, and I had to thank my guardian angels for coming through for me and for my friends.

After all, what are friends for if you can't even depend on them in crazy, stormy weather?

Photo by Cindie Hansen on Unsplash

~o~

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