A Wonderful Experience
Leaves of orange and red remind me of a little creature that started out as a ball of rough orange fur and became one of God’s most beautiful creatures. How much he brightened our lives!
It all began when our children were small and we lived in a lovely, old, weather-beaten farm house in the middle of 90 acres. My brother used to love to hunt in the woods on the property and often would stop in for a cup of coffee afterward. At that time, we had four children ranging in age from four to eleven, and we all loved to hear John tell stories. He would often take our youngest, Chris, to pick mushrooms in the nearby woods. He loved to repeat the story of how he showed Chris where bugs had nibbled on some mushrooms. He told Chris if the bugs could safely eat the mushrooms, so could we. Tiny Chris looked pensive and then said, “Unless we find dead bugs.”
One day, John came not to hunt, but to talk. He mentioned that while hunting with some friends the day before, they came across a fox den that had only thin, whimpering kits. Apparently, the mother had been killed, and the kits were so small they would die if left in the den.
Then he posed an interesting question: “Jo, how would you like to have a fox kit?” My shocked answer was, “You have to be kidding!” However, with a little persuasion, we adopted a little fellow. We already had three dogs – a miniature dachshund who lived in the house, plus two dogs that lived out of doors – a mixed-breed dalmatian that had been dropped off along our lonely country road, and a mixed-breed beagle. The dalmatian ran free as we knew he would not wander away. However, the beagle had a snug nest in the side of an old shed. He was chained so that he could not follow his favorite pursuit – trailing rabbits. His yodeling ear-piercing howl would vibrate through the woods when he was lucky enough to get free.
Reddy came to live with us one Saturday afternoon in the spring, and was understandably frightened of all of us as well as of the doxie that barked in indignation. The fox avoided our gestures of friendship, moving like a dancer through the rooms and retreating to the back of the couch when he spied our doxie.
Before retiring, we made sure that the little doxie could not get at Reddy. The next morning, we left him to continue exploring the house while we went to church. It was a warm day as my husband, our daughters, Beth and Yvonne and sons, Wesley and Chris and I lined up in the pew. Before long, my husband and I looked at one another in dismay – apparently in his fright, Reddy had emitted a pungent musky odor which clung to us!!! It hung around us in church, and we felt certain that people around us were wondering what that strange, strong, gamey odor could be!
It was then that we decided that Reddy was an outside pet. We tried putting a collar on him, with a light weight chain to keep him from wandering, but the first time our little dachshund and our frisky dalmatian found the little fox in the yard, they barked and charged toward him and we quickly gave Reddy his freedom. He streaked off into the woods, and we wondered whether we had lost him forever. When we fed the dogs that night, we also filled a little bowl with dog food for the fox. While the dogs were intent on their meal, our son, Wesley, who was about ten at the time, whistled for the fox who appeared among the trees and danced over to his dish. After that, the fox became so relaxed that he would be in the open yard most of the time, came to Wesley’s whistle and actually stole a piece of tuna fish from Wesley’s mouth one day!
As Reddy grew older, he would challenge the dachshund and dalmatian to a chase. From the large porch along the front of the house, we could sit and watch their antics. The lawn sloped away from the porch to a small area that had a group of trees and bushes where the children loved to play. Directly behind that was an old orchard of non-bearing trees scattered here and there and quite open as we had removed the brush and kept the grass mowed. We would delight in watching the “fox hunt” instigated by Reddy. He would get the attention of Friz and Frisky, and then dart away with them howling in pursuit. He would lead them in a zig-zag path and in and out of the trees. They seemed to follow his trail by scent, and with their noses to the ground would soon lose sight of him. As they dashed madly after him, he would break the pattern and reach a small knoll outside of the orchard from which he could sit and watch them going in circles, yapping frantically. You could almost see the smile on Reddy’s face! Finally, one of the dogs would tire of the fruitless search, raise his head, and spy their “victim”. At that, the tone of the barking changed; the fox again sprinted away. He would repeat this until he tired of the game, and would dash off into the heavy woods beyond the nearby meadow.
When Reddy came to live with us, he was a nondescript light orange, rough-haired kit. Before long, however, his coat changed to a beautiful, sleek red; long velvet black stockings appeared on his delicate legs. With his long, bushy tail waving behind him, he as a thing of beauty. He was awesome!
My husband realized what the children and I did not – that Reddy was maturing and would soon seek out his own kind. As much as we loved him, and perhaps as much as he loved us, there was the call of the wild. One day after a routine visit to the vet with the dogs, my husband mentioned to me that the vet had suggested that since we loved the fox so much and would miss him, we could have him painlessly put to sleep and have him stuffed!
My husband consoled me by saying, “We could put him by the fireplace and you could see him as much as you would like.” To which I replied in hurt but in jest, “We could have you stuffed and put you by the fireplace and Reddy and I could look at YOU as much as we would like!”
Although we had this conversation in the house, we never saw Reddy again. When Wesley whistled, no beautiful creature appeared for dinner. There had been times when Reddy missed meals, but now we did not see him at all. We wandered through the woods, looking for signs that he had not abandoned us completely, and we did find his catch of booty – some shoelaces from our children’s shoes, some bones from his foraging and a lineman’s boot. At times, we sensed he had come back, but it almost seemed that he had heard our discussion in the kitchen and had chosen freedom.