Fox Trot − September, 2006
My husband and I were hiking in a local forested park in the snow. We had rounded a corner, and were carrying on an animated conversation. We halted in mid-sentence because trotting towards us on the trail was a fox. We stopped walking and tried not to breath too loudly. The fox kept trotting towards us, as if he had no intention of altering his course just because some humans had appeared. Then he stopped and watched us. We watched him.
My heart was racing. I had previously only seen foxes as quick blurs of red. I’d never seen one up close. This answered a question I’d had for over a year. Canine prints had appeared in the snow all throughout the park, often without human tracks. I figured that it was either a coyote or someone’s dog that ran free (several neighborhoods bordered the park). I hadn’t considered that it could be a fox, since I didn’t think they’d be in the city.
I was so happy I could not help myself. I smiled, baring my teeth in a wide grin. I guess this was a mistake, because the fox trotted off into the brush. I don’t know whether the fox took my bared teeth as an insult or threat, or whether it was a coincidence of timing. I have never seen that fox again, but I have seen his prints, so I know that he still lives there.
My next fox sighting was even more amazing. My husband and I were vacationing in Lake Superior Provincial Park in 2006. We were at the end of a medium-length hike. We’d been gone for about three hours. We were walking along the lake on some flat, sandy, lightly wooded land. There was no one else around. We noticed a little fox nearby. He did not seem to be afraid of us.
I slowly slipped my camera out of its case and began snapping pictures. The fox trotted about from place to place. I even caught a photo of it silhouetted against the lake, a strand of poop curving from its anus down to the sand. I was running out of film, so I put the camera away. We watched the fox for a while longer. It frolicked and played, tumbling over in the sand intentionally, and then getting back up again. It repeated this motion over and over.
Although we could have watched the fox for much longer, we were hungry for our dinner, so we resumed our hike. Oddly enough the fox began to follow us. We had not offered it any food. But every time I’d look back, it’d be there on the trail, trotting behind us. I tried not to look back too often, afraid that I might scare it off.
Eventually, when I looked back, it was no longer trailing us. I looked back again and again, but it was gone. I felt very lucky to have seen a fox up close for such a long period. Later, someone told us that from our description of its behavior, it must have been a juvenile fox.
My heart was racing. I had previously only seen foxes as quick blurs of red. I’d never seen one up close. This answered a question I’d had for over a year. Canine prints had appeared in the snow all throughout the park, often without human tracks. I figured that it was either a coyote or someone’s dog that ran free (several neighborhoods bordered the park). I hadn’t considered that it could be a fox, since I didn’t think they’d be in the city.
I was so happy I could not help myself. I smiled, baring my teeth in a wide grin. I guess this was a mistake, because the fox trotted off into the brush. I don’t know whether the fox took my bared teeth as an insult or threat, or whether it was a coincidence of timing. I have never seen that fox again, but I have seen his prints, so I know that he still lives there.
My next fox sighting was even more amazing. My husband and I were vacationing in Lake Superior Provincial Park in 2006. We were at the end of a medium-length hike. We’d been gone for about three hours. We were walking along the lake on some flat, sandy, lightly wooded land. There was no one else around. We noticed a little fox nearby. He did not seem to be afraid of us.
I slowly slipped my camera out of its case and began snapping pictures. The fox trotted about from place to place. I even caught a photo of it silhouetted against the lake, a strand of poop curving from its anus down to the sand. I was running out of film, so I put the camera away. We watched the fox for a while longer. It frolicked and played, tumbling over in the sand intentionally, and then getting back up again. It repeated this motion over and over.
Although we could have watched the fox for much longer, we were hungry for our dinner, so we resumed our hike. Oddly enough the fox began to follow us. We had not offered it any food. But every time I’d look back, it’d be there on the trail, trotting behind us. I tried not to look back too often, afraid that I might scare it off.
Eventually, when I looked back, it was no longer trailing us. I looked back again and again, but it was gone. I felt very lucky to have seen a fox up close for such a long period. Later, someone told us that from our description of its behavior, it must have been a juvenile fox.
Comments:
bmccosar (April 18, 2008. 10:52pm)
I will miss this neighborhood. We have two dogs, Neri and Nora, both female Collies. Very smart, but maybe a little too analytical. About a year after we got Nora (the 2nd one), we were walking in our neighborhood when -- out of a driveway culvert -- this baby red fox shot out like a cannon and raced across a neighbor's yard. Neri and Nora stopped, watched it, and then -- after it was gone -- gave each other this look like "Why didn't you bark?!?" and THEN tried putting in some make up work on the subject. [They're very gentle, and probably wouldn't have hurt it even if they'd been able to chase it.]
peahayes (April 19, 2008. 01:38am)
That's pretty funny... I can visualize it.
kga245 (April 21, 2008. 05:10pm)
I miss nature!
peahayes (April 21, 2008. 05:56pm)
Nature misses you! Be reunited.