The Fox and the Hound (13 page)

They threaded their way at top speed through the woods until the vixen stopped again and, running to Tod, dropped and resumed her wild crying. Again, the other two males tried to shoulder Tod aside, but this time he whirled on the nearest, fastening his teeth in his neck. Both foxes rolled on the ground; Tod lost his grip, and they struggled together, their screams rising to a savage crescendo. The other fox was the more experienced fighter; but Tod was younger and stronger, so they were evenly matched.

The vixen had stopped, but when the other male tried to approach her, she viciously fought him off, She was watching the fight, and kept turning each time the male tried to mount her. The fighters broke apart and stood with humped backs and lowered heads, snarling at each other. Promptly the vixen started to run, with the attendant male at her heels. The sight was too much for the fighters, and they followed. As soon as they were running free, the vixen turned and ran to Tod again cringing and crying.

This process was repeated time after time until all four foxes were so exhausted they could hardly move. At last one of the rival males remained lying on the ground when the vixen started running. Now there were only Tod and the remaining male. Tod was so tired he was prepared to abandon the entire project, especially as he had only the vaguest idea what part he was supposed to play, and had the other male turned on him he would, after a few perfunctory snarls, have vanished into the night. But again the vixen ran to him, cringing and screaming hysterically. Puzzled what to do, Tod shrank back and then reared and drummed on her with stiff forelegs. The vixen lay motionless, still crying. The other male tried to approach, but the vixen rushed at him and bit him savagely on the foreleg. Unwilling to fight back, the male tore himself free and then disappeared.

Still giving her piercing, overwrought cries, the vixen returned to Tod and flung herself on her side, her teeth bared in a paralyzed grin like an opossum playing dead. When he stood staring at her in bewilderment, she ran to a cache she remembered, unearthed part of a squirrel, and tore it to pieces, still squalling. She made no attempt to eat the meat; instead she flung it around wildly, biting into the pieces again and again.

She seemed to be waiting for Tod to make some move, but the tired, puzzled, and somewhat frightened male had no idea what she wanted. Suddenly the vixen charged him with bared fangs. In self-defense Tod bared his own, and at once the vixen collapsed, cringing and presenting her throat. Uncertain what to do, Tod struck her again with his rigid forefeet. She submitted; and then, seeing he would do nothing else, sprang up and attacked. This was too much, and Tod furiously returned the attack. She promptly collapsed, head thrown back to expose her throat.

        By now, Tod was half frantic with anger, bewilderment, and some all-consuming urge he could not understand. He threw himself on the vixen, grabbing her by the back of the neck and shaking her as he would have shaken a rabbit. The vixen squirmed under him, forcing her rump against his hindquarters, screaming continually. She began to move her rump convulsively, and the action drove Tod mad. Releasing her, he frantically licked her, and the action seemed to calm the vixen. She stood quietly straining her hindquarters, and then slowly writhed under him. Now, at long last, Tod’s instinct asserted itself and, clinging to her supple body with the full grip of his forelegs, he bred her.

When it was over, the foxes lay side by side, thoroughly exhausted. Half in play, half in affection, Tod threw one of his long legs over her back, and the vixen turned to lick it. She whined and cuddled closer to him, thrusting her long nose under his leg. Tod looked down in awe at this half-crazy, puppy-like creature and felt a strange sense of proprietary affection toward it - not unlike the feeling he had for the tortoise shell where he had so often known the satisfaction of relieving himself. Vaguely he sensed that this remarkable creature that behaved in such unreasonable, unpredictable ways was putting herself under his protection and he would have to defend her, much as he had to defend his range from intruders, once. he had established it by urinating on the scent post. The realization worried and somewhat frightened him, and as the throbbing in his testicles was now relaxed, he decided it might be best to leave. He rose and began to trot away.

The vixen promptly sprang up and trotted at his side. Tod had no idea what to do, In a way, he liked to have her companionship yet his native desire to be alone was still strong. Obviously the vixen had no such doubts, even when he quickened his stride she loped along beside him as though this was her predestined place. Tod was too polite to drive her away, yet it was clearly impossible for him to perform his regular runs and hunts with this curious creature running with him.

They left the woods and started out across the open fields toward Tod's home range. Now the vixen started to show signs of nervousness. She whimpered and tried to turn back. When she saw that Tod was not turning with her, she darted in front and tried to turn him back by snapping at him. Swinging his muzzle from one side to the other, Tod avoided her bites, and kept on. When she persisted, he broke into a run. The vixen soon realized she could not keep up with him, and in a determined manner spun around and headed back to the safety of the woods she knew and away from the haunts of man. Glad to be rid of her, Tod kept on, slowing to a walk.

He had gone nearly a mile and was close to his old range when he realized the vixen was following him. She had made her defiant move in the belief he would not desert her, but when it became obvious Tod would not yield to her wishes, she had, after a struggle, decided to follow her new mate to whatever place he preferred. Far from being flattered, Tod was distinctly annoyed. He thought he'd gotten rid of her at last.

Ahead, the stars were tailing on a washed-out look, and Tod could smell the coming dawn as the early morning breeze flowed over the fields, bringing with it innumerable new scents. Tod realized he was ferociously hungry. The exertions of the night. had given him a ravenous appetite. He wanted rich meat to stay it - not the thin, stringy flesh of rabbits but the luscious, nourishing meat of birds. The farmers' hen roosts were dangerous at this hour, but Tod remembered the stand of pines where the pheasants roosted. There had to be one bird roosting too low this morning - there had to be! He swung away toward the pines, the vixen padding silently a few feet behind him.

The sun had risen by the time they reached the pines, and the pheasants were awake, to Tod's disappointment. As soon as he saw the birds, he dropped flat on his belly, and the vixen dropped beside him. Both foxes lay motionless, only their bright eyes moving as they watched the pheasants mantle - stretch one leg and one wing together as they prepared to fly down. All the birds were too high for the foxes to reach, although that made no difference now they were awake. Not even the craftiest fox could steal up to the pines without the birds seeing him.

Tod lay regretfully watching the pheasants, so near, yet so far out of reach. He could smell them now, and the delicious warm odor made his nostrils twitch. Wistfully, he thought of every trick. he knew. None would work.

To his amazement he saw the vixen rise and deliberately trot past the pines in full sight of the pheasants. At once a chorus of cackling call went up, interspersed with the shrill warning cry of the cocks. The vixen paid no attention to the flock and continued on her way, utterly indifferent to the birds. The ground was hilly, and as the vixen passed behind a little rise so that she was hidden, several of the pheasants flew to higher limbs so as not to lose sight of her. The vixen passed the flock and, still without glancing in their direction, turned and entered the pines a few yards from the roosting place.

The pheasants watched her suspiciously, although they knew that they were perfectly safe. A young hen flew from one pine to another, watching the fox and crying constantly, afraid to let the predator out of her sight. To follow the progress of the fox among the trees, the hen had to fly lower and lower so that her vision would not be cut off by the broad fans of green needles Yet she was careful never to get too near the fox while still giving her alarm call.

The entire flock was standing with upcraned necks, trying to see the vixen. Now Tod slunk forward, belly to the ground. Like a cat he crawled through the pines, watching the hen pheasant. As she flew from limb to limb, screaming at the fox almost as a jay would have done, all her attention was concentrated on the vixen. Now she was only a few feet above the ground.

Tod balanced himself, swayed back and forth, and then made his rush. In seconds he was under the tree. As he sprang upward, the rest of the flock saw him, and from a dozen throats went the shrill danger scream, The hen stopped her scolding and looked stupidly around for the threat; as she did so, Tod had her by the leg. Bird and fox crashed through the dead twigs to the ground, the pheasant beating desperately with her wings, the fox holding on for all he was worth. She might have gotten away with the loss of a leg had not the vixen spun around at the first sound of struggle and sped to help. With the skill of long experience, she hurled herself at the thrashing bird and with one nip broke its neck. Then she leaped lightly back and sat down, having no wish to be struck by one of the lashing wings, and knowing the end was sure. Tod, not being certain what had happened, continued to maintain his grip, and got unpleasantly kicked and beaten during the bird’s dying struggles. After all, Tod was not much bigger than a large house cat and to him a pheasant was as formidable an adversary as a swan would be to a man. A man could overcome a full-grown cob, but it is not a pleasant experience.

When the pheasant ceased struggling, Tod prepared to feed. To his indignation, the vixen raced in, snapping at him in a fury. Tod stood back, whereupon she seized the bird and, still snarling, dragged it away. Whenever Tod approached, she hissed at him, pulling the pheasant out of reach. As Tod regarded the bird as his property, he considered such conduct an outrage, but when he tried to assert his rights the vixen attacked him with such a frenzy of rage he gave way. This was not the half playful snapping and squalling she had shown previously; she really meant it. Not until she had eaten her fill was Tod allowed. to approach the bird.

After gorging, Tod retired to one of his lying-up places. The vixen accompanied him, but to Tod's relief, picked her own spot some distance off. He was already beginning to grow accustomed to her presence, and even took a certain satisfaction in having her around, yet he still insisted on privacy. Obviously she felt the same way, so although they kept within scenting range of each other, they maintained their distances.

To Tod's surprise and pleasure, the vixen turned out to be a most useful hunting companion. When hunting by himself, Tod went along the edges of the bramble patches in the hope of cutting off a rabbit feeding in the open as it made a dash for cover. Now the vixen accompanied him on his rounds, and as soon as she got to know the country she would leave him to make a swing around any likely territory and drive the rabbits to him. This maneuver was especially effective with pheasants who, if not pressed too hard, would run a long distance before taking to the air. Tod had almost never been able to catch a pheasant, no matter how carefully he stalked them, until the vixen showed him how it was done. When their noses told them pheasants were feeding in cover, the vixen would circle around behind them, leaving Tod crouched in ambush. She was amazingly dexterous in herding the flock toward him cutting them off when they tried to turn to one side and, if the flock showed signs of too great alarm, dropping flat on her belly and waiting until they calmed down. These were the same techniques that Tod had used to herd the sheep in play, and now he saw their value. Working as a team, the pair of foxes did considerable damage to the pheasant population. They also, unwittingly, saved many of the young apple trees in the orchard from being girdled by rabbits and mice. Tod had long ago discovered that an excellent place to look for mice was around the roots of the apple trees, and nearly every tree showed where he had dug up the mice during the nocturnal hunts. Rabbits had been much harder to get, but the vixen changed all that. Once he had shown her the hole under the wire fence, she would lie there while Tod went into the orchard after the rabbits. When the rabbits dashed for the hole, she was ready for them. They also used the same trick at runways in the hedges where formerly Tod had been forced to wait for an hour or more before a rabbit happened to use the hole.

        Thus, based on habit and mutual assistance, a bond grew up between them that slowly ripened into a deep affection lasting long after the vixen had passed her period and the rut was over. It was even possible that for this vixen whom he had sought out in alien territory and brought to his own range, Tod had a special feeling that he would not have felt for a local female even though he would have equally readily mated with her. He had, so he thought, defeated two powerful rivals for her affections and rescued this weak, helpless creature from her dismal land of thick timber and little food to bring her to the pleasant, open farm country well stocked with provisions. The old vixen, on the other hand, had immediately known that Tod was young, inexperienced, and would be easily molded. He was also big and strong, two factors that strongly appealed to her female instincts. So she had deliberately selected him from two older, more sophisticated males, although it would have never occurred to Tod that the whining, abject female was actually dominating the whole affair.

They were well mated; the older, more experienced vixen to the powerful, enthusiastic young male in the full glory of his youthful prowess. The vixen had been mated three times before, her last mate dying only a month before under the blows of a club as he writhed helplessly in a trap. Even though they had been mated for three years and had always been faithful to each other, the vixen had at once set out to find a new mate once she knew he was dead. Tod had been her choice, and she had every intention of molding him into a model mate. Tod, in pride of possession over this poor, weak female, would have been greatly surprised if he could have known what she had in mind.