Vulpes, the Red Fox

by Jean Craighead George

  One night when the wind was blowing from the Maryland shore, it brought across the water the far, faint cry of Brownie. Vulpes pricked up his ears and listened. Through the lonely night the voice of the Red Bone brought back to him the thrill of the hunt, and Vulpes knew he must return to the rolling valleys and rocky hills. He looked at the sleeping Fulva and lifted his head into the wind. He would take her back to his land where the bluebells opened in the spring and the kinglets filled the treetops with their sweet pensive calls, and where the miles rolled under the feet of the fox who led the chase.

  Fulva awoke as if called and saw her mate trembling as he breathed the shore blown wind. He went down to the water’s edge and looked out into the dark night. Vulpes looked back at Fulva. She had followed him to the sandy bank, lifting her head and sniffing the air to find on the wind a scent of the disturbance that had awakened her mate.

  Then Vulpes crossed the thin ice to the rock beyond the channel. She knew he wanted her to follow. Vulpes had been awakened by the call of the great Maryland shore lands and was ready to return to his home. She hesitated for a moment; then darted across the ice to the rock where he stood.

  Vulpes nudged her and would have loitered on the rocks near her home, but Fulva had made her decision. She dashed off the rock onto the jammed ice and ran toward the distant shore. However, Vulpes led the way from island to island, changing his old route where the ice had turned to water, and finding new jams of snow and rocks.

  When they came to the Maryland shore, Vulpes dashed up the bank to the tow-path. Fulva followed swiftly. Together they ran through the woods, crossed the canal on the ice and sprinted down the dark valleys to the beautiful stream that drifted under the ancient beeches and broad oaks.

  Fulva never thought of her island again, for Vulpes filled their nights and days with exciting explorations and she never tired of following her mate’s trails over the land. Some led to the open farms beyond River Road where cattle grazed and lights from the houses gleamed like yellow eyes in the night. Some penetrated deep into the thickets where rabbits nested. And one led overland to the hill above the Queen farm.

  As Fulva followed her mate up this hill to its high top, she caught the smell of hounds and men. She was instinctively afraid but Vulpes led her on until they stood on the highest crest and looked down on the kennels and chicken coops below. A curl of gray smoke rose from the chimney of the house and one light gleamed in the kitchen window where Buck Queen was still moving about.

  While Fulva looked down on the scene with mixed temerity and awe, Vulpes put his head down and called to Brownie. She heard the rattle of chains as the Red Bone came out of his kennel and walked to the end of the chain’s length. Brownie was glad to hear the voice of the red fox and answered with a long howl. Fulva could hear him tug at the chain that held him fast.

  The vixen retreated down the trail and watched her mate from the green safety of a laurel bush. The strange tie between the hound and the fox was new to her. She did not understand this friendship.

  After several weeks of roaming the hills, Fulva had less and less desire to follow her mate on his playful and far flung explorations. She preferred to stay on a sheltered hillside that stood like a bluff over Muddy Branch. Some new feeling had come over her and she sought the sun on the south side of the hill. It was a pleasant feeling of peace like the first spring thaw when the earth is mellow with the anticipation of spring.

  One night Vulpes returned from a hunt to find her digging beneath the roots of an old beech tree on the knoll. She had tunneled in several feet and her fur was dusty with earth. When she heard him approach she came out and shook the dirt from her back. Vulpes understood that she wanted a den.

  They stopped only to sleep and hunt in the fields, but Fulva slept lightly and hunted without much interest. She was always anxious to return to the beech tree and dig away the dry clay that lay beneath the dark loam of the woodland floor.

  By the middle of March they had finished their home.

  It sloped into the ground from the foot of the tree for about fifteen feet. Two entrances led off the main tunnel at the end of which was a small hollow a little more than a foot across. The den was neat and clean, lined only with the sandy clay of the earth. Fulva had carefully scattered the freshly dug earth down the bluff so that the entrance would be inconspicuous. The leaves blew over it until the foxes’ den blended into the woodland floor.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IN LATE MARCH Vulpes noticed a change in Fulva’s attitude toward him. She did not want to be with him any more. She no longer went hunting with him or romped and played along the woodland trails. When he would call to her to follow him over the rocks to the canal, she turned her back and crawled deep into their den.

  She stayed in the earth a greater part of the night and day and only came out to hunt when a mouse ran near the den. One night Vulpes came bounding over the knoll to bring her out for a trip to the fields where the quail were roosting. Fulva snarled as he entered the den. He came in a little farther to be sure he had heard correctly. Fulva bared her teeth and growled long and loud. Her hostility was very clear and Vulpes withdrew. He did not understand why, but he knew Fulva wanted to be alone.

  Hurt and disappointed, he walked out to the field to search for the quail. That night he returned to the den many times to see if Fulva would join him. She would not. Once he brought a mouse as a present. He dropped it at the entrance of the den by the roots of the big beech tree. As he lay on his haunches before the earth, looking curiously into the dark, he heard Fulva coming down the long tunnel. He pricked up his ears and ran joyfully toward her, but she did not respond. Fulva took the food quickly and returned to the dark interior. Vulpes cocked his head to one side and watched her with wonder as she went back, snarling softly.

  He slept in the leaves near the den that day and at evening wandered alone to the hill above the Queen farm. Later that night he returned to the beech tree with more food. This time Fulva did not come out. He waited long for her to appear, and when she did not, he walked off into the cool woodlands by himself.

  The following night he came back with a rabbit and laid it gently beside the untouched mouse. No sooner had he put it down than Fulva flashed out and pounced on it hungrily. She retreated to the earth, giving Vulpes no encouragement to follow.

  Vulpes went down to the stream and sat on a log. He brushed his fur with his tongue and shined the soft white patch on his breast. He knew that the beautiful mate he had so carefully selected no longer needed him. On the other side of the stream he could still see their footprints in the snow on the northern exposure. They were rapidly disappearing as the warm air circled into the valley from the high sun-lit hills. They were in a single line and led like the trail of one into the trees. He remembered how they had so often traveled, one behind the other, using the same footprints so that only the eagle eye of one as familiar with the fox as Will Stacks or Buck Queen would recognize the trail of two.

  Vulpes sat alone on the log until dawn. As if by some unseen signal the white-throated sparrows filled the woods around him with their flute-like melodies. He looked up to see the yellow-green buds of the spice bush opening to the sun. Along the slope of the creek the sepals of the trailing arbutus had folded back to let the fragrant pink blossoms uncurl. Overhead a red-shouldered hawk sped through the air in loops and spirals and dived, screaming, through the lacy tops of the bursting willow trees.

  It was spring again. The dark earth was warm and moist. Pockets of water had collected in the woodland hollows and trickled in small rivulets to the stream below. A party of bluebirds paused along the water’s edge, their soft mellow “churls” floating down through the woods on the humid winds of spring. A cardinal sat like a red berry on the hickory tree above the fox.

  A change had come to the woodlands and Vulpes was part of this new life. On the bluff above the stream Fulva lay with his newborn pups.

  The next week Vulpes spent almost all of his waking hours hunt
ing for both Fulva and himself. Her appetite was tremendous and he had difficulty keeping her fed.

  One morning when the air was warm and sweet, and the woods were full of the songs of the birds, Fulva came out of the den. She blinked in the bright light and shook the dust from her fur. Vulpes walked up to her cautiously. She jumped into the air and chased him for a few steps, then ran down to the creek and lapped the cold water. From the stream bed she barked at Vulpes, calling him down to the water’s edge. Vulpes came gliding down, still a little hesitant for fear she would turn on him again. But she did not. She seemed willing and glad to play. However, she would not leave the site of the den, and occasionally stopped to look back at it. Vulpes would look back too; the den was quiet and almost hidden by flowers and pale green leaves. Above it, the mellow carol of a thrush made the den seem magical to the fox.

  After an hour or so of frolicking, Fulva went back to the den and stretched out beside the beech tree to rest. Vulpes stood his distance, momentarily expecting her to growl and disappear. For a long time he watched the door of the den with anticipation and then walked off a few yards. He heard a small weak whimper. Vulpes stepped carefully toward his earth.

  In the dark entrance he could see two small eyes shining, and then a round fuzzy pup rolled out into the spring sun.

  The old fox sat down on his haunches and looked. A second pup followed this one out into the light and wobbled over to Fulva.

  The pups stretched their fat legs and sat uncertainly on a big green leaf of a young May-apple. A few minutes later two more pups came out. They stood timidly at the door of the den and looked across the bright woodlands to the flowing stream. Another one followed them. The fox cocked his head and looked down the tunnel to see if there were more. A sixth pup came running past the roots and scampered into the leaves barking and biting his brothers and sisters. The six little foxes played with their mother and barked at Vulpes when he came near. He wanted to play with them and teach them to hunt immediately, but Fulva guarded them jealously.

  While he was watching her brush their gray fur with her tongue, another little fox came out of the dark den and circled around her mother. Vulpes went over and peered down the tunnel just as an eighth pup rolled past him, and, frightened by his father’s presence, scurried under the white fur of his mother’s breast.

  Vulpes went over to the highest point of the knoll and curled up proudly on a rock. He couldn’t go to sleep although he closed his eyes as if he were not impressed with his big family. He kept opening one eye, however, to watch his eight little foxes kicking up the leaves and chasing flies in the sunlight.

  Suddenly his attention was attracted to the den again, and Vulpes looked over to see a robust pup, the ninth, walk out into the air, sniffing and looking nonchalantly around. The ruddy little cub glanced at his brothers and sisters and then walked right over to Vulpes. The fox got up and peered at him curiously, as the audacious pup clambered up the slope and sat down before him. Vulpes sniffed him and touched his soft fur with his nose. For a moment he did not know what to do and looked to Fulva. She was stretched out with the eight pups suckling her, and all happy and content in the sun. Suddenly Vulpes felt a surge of strength go through him—all these helpless little animals were his and they were depending on him for food and protection. He gently shoved the audacious pup back to Fulva and set out proudly to hunt food. At the crest of the next hill he turned to look back. The slope was bouncing with puppies. Nine of them.

  Vulpes walked with his head high in the air until he was out of sight and then burst into a run. Swiftly he headed for the field where the mice and rabbits were abundant. In a few hours he was back with food for Fulva. She had taken the pups inside and was waiting for Vulpes at the den.

  Strange noises and scents alarmed Fulva for the next few weeks. She would dash from the den at the sound of Bubo or the snap of a stick. One evening she scanned the countryside carefully and then went back into the den and led out the audacious pup. Vulpes watched her take him off into the woods for a short distance. She led him to an open space where Blarina, the shrew, was tunneling under the loam. The pup looked up at his mother and then down at the moving mound. For a moment he stood uncertainly, then with a sudden spurt he leapt upon the ground and scratched vigorously. Blarina had felt the disturbance and slipped off through the underground avenue. But the audacious pup dug on. After he had broken through to the tunnel he sniffed the ground and ran back to his mother. Fulva took him back to the den. As he went he hopped on every stirring leaf and flower.

  Vulpes had noticed a further change in Fulva since the pups were born. She was fierce and bold. She had lost much of her tenderness and warmth and was alert to every danger. Only when she was with the pups, nursing them or smoothing their rumpled coats, was she the gentle mate he had known.

  The burden of the hunting was put on Vulpes for Fulva guarded her offspring with a constant and untiring vigil.

  One morning when Vulpes was out looking for food, he came to the field that bordered the woods of Muddy Branch near River Road. A large farm stretched out beyond. Cattle were grazing the short green grasses. As he crouched in the fence row, half hidden by the leaves and vines, Vulpes saw two men coming across the field. He was alarmed and flashed back to the bluff to warn Fulva.

  The men Vulpes had seen were Charlie Craggett and Cy Cummings, two farmers who owned the fields that joined the woods. Charlie was an aged man with gray hair and brown eyes. He was an expert farmer and worked hard to make his land produce. His neighbor, Cy Cummings owned about twenty-nine head of cattle that he had raised and bought over the many years he had lived along the Potomac River bottom. Both men were friends of Buck Queen and often went on hunts with him in the fall and winter when the sport of the hunt lured them all from their fields.

  Cy had lost a young heifer early that morning and he had called on Charlie to help him find her and bring her in. They were walking down through the field that was growing green with the thin blades of winter wheat.

  “I didn’t mend that hole in the edge of the fence near Muddy Branch last year, and I suspect she got out that way,” Cy was saying when Vulpes saw him.

  “Well, she can’t get far,” Charlie said, slinging the rope he was carrying over his shoulders and striding carefully down the plowed wheat fields.

  Both men were glad to be out in the spring air, and the smell of fresh wet loam was good to them. At the fence, the hoof prints of the heifer were cut deeply in the springy topsoil.

  “Yes, she headed for the woods and the flowers,” Cy laughed as he followed the young cow’s trail. It crossed the ridge and went down into the valley and out across the flats carved by the stream. There among the fresh bushes was the heifer, browsing on the new leaves. The two men had little trouble catching her and were turning to lead her back when Charlie stooped below the limbs of the young saplings and peered across the stream.

  “I’ll bet that little hole under that beech tree is a fox den,” the keen-eyed farmer said as he pointed to the bluff.

  “It’s about the right size and shape,” Cy said as he located the position Charlie had pointed out to him. “Say, I believe they have pups at this time of year. Want to go over and take a look? I’ll tie the heifer here.”

  “Sure, I’ve never seen a fox cub,” Charlie answered. “Let’s see if we can get one out.” Cy tied the rope that was looped around the heifer’s neck to a tulip poplar tree and the two men went down to the water’s edge to look for a crossing. They found a tree foot-log that had fallen across the creek and ran across it balancing themselves with their arms. On the other side they leapt to the ground and trotted purposefully up the hill to the bluff.

  Fulva heard them coming and sped deep into the den with the nine pups. She crouched back against the earth and watched the tunnel, trembling and frightened, her strong muscles drawn up like wires.

  Charlie rested when he reached the top of the steep climb and waited for Cy. The men walked over to the opening and bent down
to look in.

  “This has just been used recently,” Charlie said picking up the loose earth.

  “Sure, there is probably a litter in there right now,” added Cy. “Look at the rabbit and mouse bones around here in the leaves.”

  Charlie put his arm down the tunnel and reached as far as he could. The roots of the big tree stuck his shoulder and he could feel nothing.

  “That sure goes way back,” he said. “I wish we had a shovel and could dig them out.”

  “It’s right hard to dig out a used den,” Cy said, shaking his head. “A fox makes pretty sure that it winds its tunnel around a lot of roots and rocks—and they go awfully deep.”

  The men tried a few more times to reach into the den, but to no avail. Cy stood up and shook the dust off his arm.

  “Well, I guess we won’t see a pup today. We’d better get the heifer and go on back,” he said as he turned and started down the bluff. The men crossed the stream along the log, untied the heifer and led the reluctant animal back through the woods and home.

  Fulva heard them go. Vulpes darted from a hiding place near the den and slipped out onto the bluff as the men walked off through the woods. He went back to the den and smelt the fresh odor of their hands on the earth. Deep in the den he heard his pups whimpering. Fulva was still with them, her head pressed against the roof of the hollow. She knew what she must do, and waited until all sounds and smells of the men had left the area.

  She picked up a pup in her mouth and walked down the tunnel and out into the air. Without stopping she went back over the hill and down the other side. She traveled across several hills with her burden, and put him gently down in a rocky cave where Vulpes had hidden from the storm last winter. The little pup curled up in the leaves in the shelter and went to sleep. Fulva returned for another one.