The Small Fox - July 5 2022

 

The Small Fox

July 5 2022

The small fox,

reddish-brown

sharp-nosed

hyper-vigilant,

darts across the road

not far in front of us.

Is he predator or prey?

I know the pack of wolves,

whose howls I hear

but never see,

will not tolerate his presence.

But small animals fear him,

rodent hunter

egg stealer

slayer of snakes.

Even carrion,

before the turkey vultures and crows

surround the steaming carcass

squawking and shrieking

and competing for space,

all sharp claws and beaks

and powerfully beating wings.

He is solitary

clever

inquisitive.

I am surprised

how small he is,

what a resourceful survivor.

The dogs

who were asleep in back

are now barking madly;

they have caught a whiff

of his feral scent

as we're speeding past.

The fox,

stopped for a moment

at the side of the road,

gives us a glance.

And I catch a glimpse

of erect ears

glistening nose

piercing eyes,

before he vanishes

into the underbrush.

A master of stealth, as well.

There are no road-killed foxes.

You never hear them bark.

And if they pursued him

he would toy

with my enthusiastic dogs,

two Labs

crashing through the woods

as if it were a game

tails wagging

breathing hard.

How easily

he would elude them,

endowed as he is

with the lithe grace

of a wild creature,

a predator's supple intelligence,

and the skittishness of prey.

My two heroic dogs,

left panting with exhaustion

and most likely lost.